My husband is a saint.

But you knew that already. He is married to me after all.

I think every long-term relationship has its ups and downs.

We've been married for ten years, and we've taken our bumps just like everyone else. We've had our days of miscommunication. We've had our days of misunderstandings and hurt feelings. But in the end, he's the only man I've ever loved and the absolute right man for me.

We're a team. But there are times when he's my hero.

Take these last few days for example.

I need a break. Not from the kids, or the dog, or him. But from myself. I'm sick. Not just with a cold, but so, so sick of myself. I need to be stopped before I completely turn into my father.

He said he understood. And then he proceeded to systematically make my life easier. He made phone calls I've been dreading. He even fired the cleaning ladies for me.

He offered to fill in for me and substitute in my daughter's classroom. I said, "Really? I'd love you for life!"

He said, "You love me for life anyway."

I said, "True," but what I thought was, I so owe you a blow job for this!

He's gotten up early the last two mornings and driven the kids to school so I can sleep later. He's made lunches and brought me home Diet Coke instead of ice cream as a treat because he knows I'm trying to be healthier.

And he's just been so damn cute. He makes me laugh. Sometimes too much.

Just last night we were watching television while we were getting ready to get busy. (When you're in your thirties and have been together for sixteen years you'll know what I mean by that.) Something on the show made me laugh, and I couldn't stop.

When he rolled on top of me I laughed really hard. And when I laugh really hard I make this really pathetic, almost silent wheezing sound.

"You sound like a ten-year smoker," he told me. Which only made me laugh harder.

So there we were. Him trying to get going and me laughing until I couldn't breathe.

"Ow! It hurts. Wheeze. Wheeze. Wheeze. I can't breathe! Wheeze. Wheeze. Wheeze."

Finally he rolled off me. "Shall we try again later?"

"Okay. Wheeze. Wheeze Wheeze."

When I finally subsided into giggles, he put the moves on me again. Only a man who is damn sure of himself could get laughed at like that and still be able to do his duty.

He's a saint, I tell ya. A saint.

Heck. Being married to me can't be a walk in the park. Unless you're talking about a walk in the park after midnight when you might be dragged into the bushes to be mugged, but you might be dragged into the bushes to be ravished.

Either way, it's one hell of a ride.

(Love you, Hon!)