31 doors, every one about them → unveil.day

she clapped the loudest every time

your mom spent her whole life getting excited about small things for you. the tooth under the pillow. the drawing on the fridge. your name called out at graduation. she clapped the loudest at everything, every time.

31 doors, every one about them → unveil.day

i pretended to be asleep just to see

love them slowly, day by day → unveil.day

not the answer i expected

i asked my husband what he likes best about me.

he said it's that when he comes home exhausted and complains about his boss, i go "what is that guy's problem, i hope he drops dead".

31 doors, every one about them → unveil.day

out of nowhere my husband said thank you

Out of nowhere, my husband suddenly goes, "Thank you for marrying me. I want you to stay with me forever from now on. I love you."

So I shot back, "You cheating or something? In debt? Got it! Starting next month, you're unemployed!"

And then, from that huge hulking frame of his, he lets out this super frail little voice, like I can't even tell where it's coming from,

love them slowly, day by day → unveil.day

i thought my parents had a boring marriage

My whole life I thought my parents had a boring marriage. No grand declarations. No anniversaries. No I-love-yous across the dinner table.

Then last winter my mom got sick, and I caught my dad warming her side of the bed with a hot water bottle every night, ten minutes before she came up, so she'd never climb into the cold.

He never mentioned it once. He'd been doing it for forty years.

for the person you'd write 31 letters to → unveil.day

my husband is a man of few words

My husband is a man of very few words. In eight years he's said "I love you" maybe a dozen times, and each one felt like it cost him something.

Last month I grabbed his phone to call mine, and saw his reminders. "Ask her about the meeting Thursday." "She likes the blue mug, not the green one." "Tell her she did good today."

He doesn't say it much. He's just been quietly writing it down, every day, for years.

one gift, opened a little each day → unveil.day

before my son fell asleep he said

Before my son fell asleep, he said, "When I grow up, I might say I hate you, Mom. But it's absolutely a lie, because I love you so much. Don't forget that."

Come to me at night, When the city sleeps and the lights fade away. I will come to you with roses, my heart in my hands, With no barriers between us, as the wind sings for us, And the moon guards our dreams. Come to me at night, I will come to you with roses, I will whisper the words of my heart— With true love and hidden hopes. Come to me at night, Let me hear your footsteps in the streets, I…