Clunky love letter

At times, my husband astounds me, in a good way. I am really lucky. I couldn't do it without him.

We are classic "do it the hard way" kind of people. Maybe if we hadn't met, our lives would less "Rocky Road" and more "Easy Street".

It is worth day dreaming about, now and then, a different life. (I so badly want to weave in a Nightmare on Elm Street reference next but that is real, real bad writing and wierd.) I have no regrets. I wince recalling an estimated dozen memories.

But regrets, nah, not really. I have a husband that can repair the steps and play guitar, and live in this messy house with me. We share so much: a recently pumped septic system, a kid with (finally) combed hair, an increasingly muddy pathway to our front door, and probably a few other things, too. Not too much to complain about.