To Shannon on Valentine’s Day
You said something to me a few days ago and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.
You ordered me into the shower and then passed one of our puke- or poop-covered daughters to me and said, “I hope you’re happy.”
You were laughing when you said it, the demonic little laugh of yours that makes me wonder if you’ve fantasized about dismembering me. Then again, you could glare at me for a couple of minutes and incinerate me so you probably don’t need to trouble yourself with the mess of dismemberment.
I don’t stop to think about being happy too often. Maybe I should. Maybe I should take more time to think about the chaos we’ve created and the crazy fucking joy I get from our chaos. It’s a lot of crazy fucking joy, Shannon. I don’t always recognize it when I’m hosing off one of our kids but goddamn, it’s good. What we have, it’s good. I have the most amazing wife in the world—before you start mouthing off, yes, I’m talking about you—and the best little girls. Their ability to project bodily fluids is unparalleled and I couldn’t be prouder.
I don’t know who I’d be without you and our girls. I wouldn’t be much, I know that.
To answer your question, yes. Yes, I am happy. Keep handing me those babies. I’ll keep washing them.