Why are the hot ones always crazy?

It usually starts sometime in the mid afternoon. She's in the kitchen keeping herself busy. She never really stops actually; doing dishes, making cookies, milling around. The music is playing on the stereo. Sometimes it's a familiar song, sometime it's not. But it doesn't really matter. She's dancing anyways. Well, not dancing in the pirouette, scissor-kicking across the floor type of way, but she still moves.

Suck it Crayola!

It's generally the same rhythm; left, right, left-left. Right, left, right, right go her hips in time to the music. When she's really into it, the mixing spoon sometimes becomes her microphone. She sings regardless of whether or not she knows the lyrics. She sings regardless of whether it's totally out of her range or not. She sings because it's who she is. Unabashedly unashamed. She is my wife and I love her for all of her subtle intricacies and full out bat-shit crazy moments.

I will never look at crayons the same way again thanks to her. Crayons; those simple little colourful sticks that kids use to scribble pictures. The ones that restaurants give out to shut your kids up for the 30 minutes of time it takes for your food to come and How-the-hell-can-kids-be-expected-to-colour-a-decent-picture-when-you-only-give-them-3-colours-crayons? Seriously. I will never look at crayons the same way again thanks to her.

Thanks to her flights of fancy and her 'crafty-eye' she decided that these crayons; the ones that are already moulded, formed and wrapped in a paper casing, should be unwrapped, broken into bits, melted down and remoulded in the shape of hearts. 50+ of them. Why? Why because it's Valentine's Day of course. Why else? To hell with you Walmart and your dime a dozen made in China cardboard Valentine's Day cards. She is Uber-Mom....hear her ROAR! Seriously....she will occasionally roar if it helps to emphasize her point.

She often talks to herself. I don't know if this is because she thinks that I don't listen to her or if it's because she legitimately hears voices. At least she laughs at her own jokes....or the ones the voices in her head tell her. Put it this way....she's never the only one in the room. On that note, she has conversations with our animals. Full out, "Can I offer you some tea and cookies while we chat" kind of conversations. Maybe the animals talk back. I'm not 100% sure but rest assured....the conversation never gets stale.

That's fear in my eyes as she points the musket at my head. Notice the smile.

I'm partially convinced that she is part cyborg. Not only because she had one child ripped out of her stomach and the other pushed out naturally without any drugs but because she often comes close to lopping off her fingers when cooking and she seems able to just shrug off knife wounds while arterial spray hits the roof. I'm not sure if she can take small arms fire. I'm not going to try and find out. She hasn't asked me where she can find John Connor so I guess I'm safe.....for now.

I will never meet another woman that can turn my head and then turn my stomach seconds apart from one another. On our wedding day I toasted her and exclaimed that I have never met a woman that can out drink, out burp and out fart me. She has still not let me down in any of these 3 categories. And yet I find myself staring at her during quiet moments of the day and marveling at how graciously and beautifully she is aging.

She doesn't often wear make-up, nor go out of her way to tease and tussle her hair and yet I'm drawn to her natural simplicity. Why are the hot ones always crazy? I know she's not a supermodel by society's standard and I wouldn't want her to be. I'm totally cool with girl-next-door sweetness. I'm taken by the freckles on her shoulders and her strawberry blond hair. You can't manufacture that stuff. It's just pure.

This is a woman that has driven to and from California to be with me in my quest for work. She has trusted me to travel from continent to continent even when the risks seemed high and the rewards were low. She puts up with my family-----that's says a lot for those who know me. She puts up with me.

So....is she a dancer? An artistic genius? An animal psychic? Perhaps a Terminator or a Super-model? I say put a check mark in "All of the above". She is my wife and I love her for all of her subtle intricacies and full out bat-shit crazy moments.



Love this shot.