Do you know one of those couples who can finish each other’s sentences? Perhaps you are one of those couples. Some say it comes from a decade or two or three of living with someone. I once knew a couple who would relate stories of their shared experiences at the same time. It was a bit like watching a tennis match. My head would jerk back and forth from one to the other as one would begin a sentence, the other would overlap in speaking and then finish the sentence, and so on. It was…cute, in an annoying way.

This is not Bill and I. Try though we may, we think so differently at times that for one of us to finish the other’s sentence results in a rebuke from the speaker: that’s not what I was saying. And I’m perfectly happy with our differences. Otherwise, I would not experience amusing conversations like the one we had yesterday.

We were discussing the most charitable way to handle one of those tricky “love thy neighbor” situations. Or rather, Bill felt, I was criticizing his methods. That’s not really true. I just had some suggestions for how I felt he could have handled it differently…”better” I think I may have said. Of course, there is no right answer on how to deal with obnoxious neighbors. Perhaps calmly and politely explaining to them that their behavior is unacceptable is a good thing to do. Perhaps the situation requires silently offer up your personal suffering.

The end result of this discussion, though, is my husband’s conclusion (which he reaches every time we discuss something ambiguous like this), is that I am always right and he is always wrong. Unlike my husband, I make it a point to avoid arguments that I don’t think I can win. Naturally, he is permitted to be right quite often and without debate, whereas I am forced to defend my positions every single time. So I pick only winning battles which only lends credence to his claim that I am always right and he is always wrong – a statement which I am not fool enough to argue, so therefore he must be right.

Following his usual pronouncement of my victory, he said that such discussions were to be expected since one of us was an idealist and one a realist…he being the idealist. Oh no, dear husband, I said, I am the idealist and you are the realist. We then went on to explain why each of us was what we thought ourselves to be and the other was the opposite. But I don’t know why he even bothered to argue with me.

After all, he had already said that I was always right and he was always wrong.

And he was right.

Quite a while ago, I read about another woman writing daily love notes for her husband. I thought this was a sweet idea, and wanted to start doing that for you, too, sometimes. As you know, I haven’t done a single one. I told myself last night that I had no excuse for not doing one for you today, but, still, it remains undone. At the computer, though, I manage to find time and inspiration. And since so many of our love letters are electronic, I figure one more won’t matter. I can’t spray it with perfume, but, if you want, I’ll sit on your lap while you read it, and I’ll be sure to dab a bit of scent on my neck before I do.

I know I give you such grief sometimes and run you ragged with my whining and complaining about your hours, your weekends away, your constantly buzzing Blackberry. Please realize that it is not so much that I need a break and lament you not being here to pitch in and help with taking the kids hither and dither or to allow me to go to the grocery store in peace but rather that I just really miss you. I could have you home all the time. I would put you to work, but I would enjoy your company too. And I know that you would be here too, if you could. I do appreciate the work you do for us, for me, in trying to give us a wonderful life. I am thankful that you don’t dawdle at work or find distractions to keep you from home a minute longer than necessary. I love that you call me the minute you leave the office to tell me you are on the way, and that you would talk to me the entire drive if I didn’t brush you off with having to attend to something else, although never something more important.

I know that I fail you and don’t often have a hot meal, a clean home and cheerful children ready to great you when you come in the door. Instead you find a tired wife, cold food in the fridge, and children madly tearing through the house. You are even left to forage for clean laundry, sometimes only to discover there is none to be found. And you manage, uncomplaining, to make do with whatever you have. Thank you.

And thank you for supporting me, encouraging me, and challenging me. I am blessed to have found a man smart enough to keep me on my toes, strong enough to keep me going, and brave enough to dare me to be the best I can be. And through it all you make me laugh.

Life with you is a slice of Eden. Happy Valentine’s Day.

Every so often, Bill and I have the following conversation:

Me: I’ve never seen that movie.

Bill: Yes, you did. We saw it together. Don’t you remember {this scene} or when the guy {does this}?

Me: No. Really. I have never seen this movie.

Bill: You saw the movie, Michelle. I remember we went out for ice cream afterwards.

Me: No. I have never seen this movie. That was your other wife you took.

Today, it was Gross Pointe Blank. I know the premise of the movie, but I swear I never saw it. It came out in 1997, which is pre-children. It’s possible that I saw the movie. It’s possible that I completely put it out of my mind, like one of my old telephone numbers or addresses.

Bill has been somewhat at a loss since the only classical music station in the DC area was bought out and went to a “we’ll play whatever we feel like playing” format. A PBS station has begun playing classical music for part of the day, but last night it was doing Jim Lehrer’s news program instead. He was scanning the radio waves and came across Blister in the Sun which brought back memories of being really young, really carefree and “spinning” (dancing) until the wee hours of the morn with his really young, really carefree girlfriend (moi).

Ah, youth.

We couldn’t remember the name of the band (The Violent Femmes), but the internet is oh so helpful in providing answers instantaneously. We came across this video with scenes from and references to Gross Pointe Blank, a movie I have never seen. Really. I think. I’ll add the movie to my Netflix Queue, we’ll watch it, and then we’ll have the following conversation afterward:

Me: Hmmm. It seemed vaguely familiar, but I really don’t remember seeing it before.

Bill: You did see it. Don’t you remember I left the lights on in the car and had to get a jump from that old man in the blue Ford Taurus who served in the Korean War and had 5 kids, 20 grandkids and the next day was his wife’s birthday and he was at the mall buying her a diamond bracelet like she always wanted and they could never afford? Remember?

Me: Seriously, when did you have time to lead a double life?

I have started a movie log. From this point forward, at least, I will be able to clearly know which movies I have and have not seen. This won’t help me much in recalling details from days that happened 10 or 15 years ago – Bill and I go back to late 1989 (oh, gosh, is it seventeen years already?) – but by 2020 I’ll be prepared to defend my “I didn’t see it” claims with a list of titles.