Love is . . .

Walking on the shady side of the street when its 20 degrees out because she hates having the sun in her eyes.

Preparing her (already late) lunch right when you walk in the door, before you go to the bathroom, when you've already been holding it too long.

Sharing the expensive yogurt.

Making room for a jumperoo.


Cooking a meal you know you'll be cleaning off the floor in less than 10 minutes, then eating mushy vegetables because she likes them soft.

Little arms that only reach around your neck when her cheek is pressed close to yours.


Sleeping on the wall side of the bed.

Installing dimmer switches so you don't wake me up when you get ready for early meetings.

Folding someone else's socks and underwear.

Never buying ice cream or cookies when I'm off treats.

Picking the picture in which you don't look that great because it flatters someone else.

Understanding on the days when you give love and it goes to someone else instead of coming back to you.

Accepting double standards and, occasionally, outright hypocrisy.

When the first words you say in the morning are "I'm sorry. I hated how we left things."

Not needing the apology to forgive.

Love is usually not romantic. It cannot be edited down to under three hours, including credits. It is beautiful and valuable in part because it defies categorization or description. It just is. When you give it, you know.