The Color of Love...

is rain.

Yep, I know that rain is technically clear, but in this photo I can see how much my husband loves his son.

Steve is not a sports orientated guy. If he had his druthers, Super Bowl Sunday would consist of table laden rhapsodies of food and snacks, with nary a sign of the infamous ball game in sight. All of the TVs in the house would be tuned in to the History or Military channels. 

Preferably both on split screen.

Our youngest kidlet is the d end on strong side. He is in the foreground on the right side of this photo. The funny thing is that I didn't even notice Steve at first.

In the background, in the bright orange Carhartt raingear he received from his parents as a birthday gift, holding one of the side markers, is my husband.

In between the two are hot, sweaty football players and hundreds of millions of gallons of skin soaking rain. 

Even as cool and wet as it was, the players are still steaming.

I hate being cold and wet, so I was safely tucked away in warm layers of clothing, swaddled in a waterproof fleece blanket, perched under the massive roof above our high school's wonderful stadium on a canvas stadium seat that keeps my 'seat' warm and dry.

Go team!

Frankly, I don't know how Steve can stand out there hour after hour in the deluge. I would be a whining, sniveling mess. When I, and others around me in the stadium, thank Steve during half time for volunteering on the team's chain gang, he simply shrugs and says, "No problem".

Uh huh.

After we got home that night and The Hubster had changed into dry clothes, I asked him how he endured the nasty weather.

His answer humbled me.

"I love Kidlet," he mumbled hesitantly.

Now that I have this photo, I can clearly see that.

Well done, Sweetie!

Go Left

My dear husband, with his Aspergers Syndrome, is most definitely inflexible in his rigid thinking. Once his mind is made up, there is no changing it. Cast in stone, cemented in, absolutely no reconsideration. Period. End of discussion.

Sometimes he recognizes obstacles, sometimes not. 

He gets things mixed up. He won't admit it. Nor will he own up to making mistakes, or misunderstanding directions, or having mis-remembered conversations, or just plain old forgetfulness.

I forget things. I misunderstand. I get things mixed up. But I'd like to think that I own up to them.

I tend to point at objects in our house, asking the kids to go grab me that 'thingamajigger'. It can take me a while to remember the names of common household items like 'pen', 'cup', and the kitchen 'whatchamacallit' - I mean 'towel'. By the time I come up with the correct noun, they've already delivered the requested item and are long gone.

Kind of like my short term memory.

Steve, however, can't seem to remember the names of our bible study leaders, whose home we go to weekly, the kid's various schools or sports teams, or where the scissors go after he is done using them. We end up buying him new tools regularly because he doesn't put them back as soon as he finishes with them. And we have to endure his wrath as he is convinced that one of our kids or myself have taken the specific tool and hidden it from him.

The Hubster has occasionally taken steps to try to break out from his single mindedness. He comes back hours, or sometimes even days after a blow up and tries to figure out where things went sideways. Then he attempts to rationally, and calmly, approach various differences in the future. 

I truly try to remain impassive as he 'sounds' these things out loud to me, being as non-committal as possible on my own views. After all, my spouse is convinced that I am always right, so who am I to disillusion him?

LOL - not! Sometimes it's me that has to go left! Or just leave, in which case he is left talking to himself - or the dogs, whomever is left last!