Letters To My BabbyDaddy :: Talk To Me

Hey Love.

I love translating you for others, too
#appleBOTTOMjeans

My handsome, handsome love.  Particularly now with the mustache and soul patch facial-hair-that-shall-not-be-named G-O-N-E gone.  We decorated the tree last night, and you actually participated.  You've been actually participating a lot lately, and I find myself wanting to grab ahold of those moments and just squeeze them until I've made sure to get all of the specialness out of them.  But that's not what you're supposed to do with moments like that.  I know this, but I forget.  You're teaching me, by example, to just enjoy them.  Notice them.  Then keep right on living, so that you can have more moments.  

When we talk, even just on the phone for a "hey where are you at okay I'll be back soon" type of chat, I notice that we have our own language.  We've got our own names, like puddin' and handsome, sweet thang and donny, but there's more than that.  Over our years, it seems we've developed our own special blend of north & south speak, melded together with insider information.  Its not abnormal to hear "Grab some pop while you're at the store, eh?" and "dadgum, this youngin' is trying to eat the sweeper".  I like to fancy that we'd be an anomaly to language investigators, were they to watch us.

Then we've got the whole who-needs-to-say-a-whole-sentence thing going on, which makes me feel like we're jiving as nothing else can.  A simple "Hey Mariah, where's the..." followed by "In the basement, back right closet shelf" can find the paper towels without any previous conversation.  It doesn't always happen like magic, but its enough to know that I know you.  

I love knowing you.

Talk to you soon.

<3 M.