My Rock

Dear Husband,

You are my rock. And you do rock. But the reason I came around to this notion is through a thought process with which you would probably find issue. Basically, I decided last night that perhaps instead of your other name being “Sparky”, it should be “Peter”. Which means “rock”. Well, actually, it means “stone” but you know, close enough.

So I decided this last night when you were busy “tsk tsk tsk”ing me for something completely irrelevant. Like being snuggled up all cosy in bed before you’d made it back to our bedroom after we shut the puppy in the kitchen for the night. Or the (in my mind, completely necessary) singular eyebrow raise when you kept going and shaking your head at the same time. You were tsk tsk tsk-ing me and it sounded just like a rabbit, or, well, what I imagine a rabbit might sound like. What Peter Rabbit might sound like.

Then I thought of the times when you weren’t trying to mock scold me and it occurred to me that at some of those times, it is occasionally I who am mock scolding you. Because I have noted that periodically you like to behave like the boy who never grew up. And whilst I’m no Wendy, it has crossed my mind on occasion that you may just have a few Peter Pan tendencies…

So between your Peter Rabbit impersonations, your Peter Pan tendencies and your moments of startling brilliance as “Sparky” (I did once tell you when we were trying for “Button” that I wanted to pick up a pregnancy test and your first response was “Why?” to which I wanted to respond “You can’t seriously be asking me that question!?”), I figure you’re tipping the scales towards “Peter” at the moment.

And hey, its better than “Mary” – because I’m sorry honey but you do still pack like a girl whenever we go away anywhere. If anyone is going to take “everything but the kitchen sink”, its not going to be me.

Jokingly yours,

Your Loving Wife

* Photo taken at the last Sculptures By The Sea


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