by Kat

Now I’m going to do something out-of-the-norm here. I’m going to write a blog-post about a blog-post…and I’ll explain why.

My husband recently wrote a blog post about That Friday Feeling. If you haven’t read it yet, please check it out (posted last before this one). It’s short, sweet, and to the point. He begins by harping on the fact that we all look forward to the glorious day that is Friday—the day that we get to take a break from work to relax and well, start the weekend. It’s a great post, and if you’re reading it on a day that isn’t Friday, you might squirm a little in your seat and feel nostalgic about the last time you felt that way—you know, last Friday, ha.

Now, here’s why I wanted to talk to you about that post…

When Taylor and I receive The Thoughts that we believe will erupt into something people might want to read, we tend to jot them down on whatever is near us so we won’t forget. Usually, once we’re around each other, the one with the blog-post-idea will casually bring it up, giving a brief synopsis of what is brewing inside. The other-person will typically nod with a, “oh, yea…that sounds good, babe. Write it!” This tends to happen in passing—while we’re in the car distracted by traffic, in the kitchen chopping up something for dinner, or getting the bed ready for us to crawl into it.

Now this particular Friday Feeling idea was shared with me while we were sitting in class. Taylor and I have a class together on Tuesday nights, and one Tuesday while listening to our professor speak, my hubby leaned over and whispered in my ear, “you know that feeling we get on Fridays?”

I shot him a puzzled look, “mhm?”

“I’m going to write it about it,” he whispered.

“Ok,” I quietly chuckled, and resumed listening to the lesson.

Taylor was busy typing away the rest of the class period.

That night we got home and began our nighttime routine when I looked at the mirror in horror. I raced closer to the glass with my thighs pinched steadily as my eyes narrowed. I let out a strong gasp.

“What happened?” he asked peeking through the bathroom door.


I immediately turned to the ever so trusted Google and began asking the Internet where the spider veins came from and why in the world were they peeking through my just-worked-out-that-afternoon-legs. The more I read, the more frantic I became.

“Babe, it’s okay…” Taylor tried to reassure me.

But, he was quickly ignored. Before I knew it, I was in full-blown panic-mode and shallow tears started swelling up in my eyes. (I tell you this in a humble state, folks. No, I am not proud of my reaction.)

My hubby heard a sniffle from the bathroom and quickly appeared next to me on the bed, “are you…crying?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why…” I continued, laying my head back on the pillow in defeat.

Suddenly, my groom laid his body next to mine and took my pathetic whimpering little head into his arms.

He didn’t say a word.

We lied down for a few minutes in silence as my head rested on his chest. My thoughts were soon interrupted, “want to read my blog post?” he asked.

For a moment I thought this question to be insensitive, considering the apparent and obviously important catastrophic discovery and moment I was going through, “ok,” I responded half-heartedly.

He sprang up, grabbed our laptop, and opened to the Word document.

“Here you go. I’m going to hop in the shower,” he said, walking away.

At this point, I internally rolled my eyes, submitting to the reality that he’s a man…and a man would obviously not get how horrific this is…

I began reading…

…and then I got to the part where my hubby tells the world that he experiences the Friday Feeling every day…because he’s married to me. I’m his Friday Feeling…whether it’s a Monday or a Tuesday…or any day of the week…it’s really a Friday…to him…because he gets to come home to me…in fact it’s, he says, “much, much better than that.”

Tears began rolling down my cheek. Except this time, they were real…and the opposite of the pathetic ones shed a few minutes earlier. Maybe they were happy-tears, or love-tears (if there is such a thing), I don’t know.

All I know is that my overwhelming insecurity in the previous moment was replaced by love. True love. Love that doesn’t look at the outward appearance. I had lost sight of that love for a split second. The spider veins had fogged my true sight. Seeing that tiny-dark-purple-web on my skin made me fear that my hubby would notice them, and in turn, see me a little less than perfect.

I pushed passed the laptop and B-lined to the bathroom. I pulled aside the shower curtain just a bit.

“Hey,” he smiled.

“Hey…” I smiled back.

“Are you crying again?” he chuckled.

“Yea…I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He plopped a wet kiss on my lips.

Where are you right now as you read this? Maybe you’re at your desk at work on a Monday afternoon, or maybe you’re at sitting a red light in Thursday rush-hour traffic.

You know that feeling you get when you’ve been busy at the office all day or under the hot sun or stuck pushing papers behind a desk? That feeling when it’s almost time to get to the place you’ve been waiting to go all day….you know, home...that place you get to kick your shoes off at, change into sweatpants, say hi to your fury family member, and just….be?

...that feeling of being there….where all is good, and right, and restful in the world in that moment…

That’s the feeling I have with him. It’s when I’m with my hubby that I am home…right where I belong…right where I can be…myself. Spider veins, and all.