my good luck.

My husband and I recently celebrated our wedding anniversary.

We went out to dinner, which, in our life populated with small children, is an exceedingly rare treat; and everything, from the lack of line up to the excellent service to the utterly wonderful food, went perfectly.

Which was lovely and appropriate, because when it comes to my home life, I occasionally have a hard time believing my good luck. I could go on (and in fact I have) about the delight I take in my relationship with my husband – I think we are the perfect match, and we continue to get along terrifically well even though we spend a lot more time together than many of the couples we know.

He is talented, warm, and charming, a great dad and a good friend. I absolutely adore him, and I love the life that we are building together.

I am telling you all of this today because he has gone out of town for a couple of weeks, and when he is not here for an extended period of time it is not difficult for me to descend quite quickly into ungraciousness.

So if you see me wearing a pained and/or openly resentful expression in the coming days, or if I am less than effusive on the subject of my wonderful husband, please don’t take it too much to heart.

I promise I won’t either.