He is a dream cupper and a hand holder and a call it like he sees it.
He is deep thinking, tender kissing and recognize your limits.
He is faith of rocks, and wisdom deep, be still and know, and it’s going to be okay.
He is sun rise and sun set, day after another day. And another year. He is curious and unexpected funny, Giants cheer-er, feeling soother, cartoon voice talker, kitchen and campfire master.
He is a thousand acts with herbs and spices, school projects, just the right music, graph paper, prayers and the place we fit right under his arm.
Way to go, sweetie.
You can do it — I have no doubt.
His mind makes methods, and he thinks and weighs. Thinks some more.
Then again, he can stare at a wall and literally not think about anything.
He cares deeply, but does not take things personally.
He is hands like mitts, who threads a needle, applies Super Glue in a straight line on a toy and untangles necklaces with the dexterity of a master clockmaker.
He has learned the art of helping girls pick their clothes.
These mysteries. This man.
He is safe place and harbor.
He is ask hard questions and look you full love in the eye.
He is I’m sorry and what can I do to help?
He is my best friend, my love, muy guapo, treasured papa of our three girls, and today is his birthday.
Happy birthday, Michael.
I love you with all this heart can hold.
And then some more.