You slow down as you pass the colorful aisles brimming with produce and stop the race car shopping cart, overflowing with our kids and a few days worth of groceries from a list planned only as far ahead as I could think about, and you turn around. Walk back to me, a couple steps behind. Rub my back gently and look into my eyes with a quiet smile. Only a handful of seconds without a spoken word but your love is immeasurably loud.

Sometimes our marriage is candlelit bubble baths and making late night cookies and moving across the country so one of us can follow our passions or be close to our family, and sometimes it is this.

A silent moment in a grocery story when I’m struggling to keep up because thanks twins + sciatica.

Sitting across from me on the floor, holding my hands as tears run down my face, reminding me of all the good in the week.

An early morning hug after the frustration of a fourth day in a row waking up to find a toddler and his bed covered in nasty.

Giving me the bigger piece of steak because you know the twinkies need protein to grow.

And when you said I do, I don’t think you pictured this. I don’t think you knew what to picture! Nineteen year old boys aren’t exactly an overflowing fount’ of marital wisdom, and when you envisioned the wild romance that was to come, I can’t imagine a shopping cart full of kids and an exhausted wife is what you saw. It’s a stage almost every couple will go through, yes, but the last time either of us really spent very extended time around a family with young children, we were the young children.

And now here we are.

Walking the tightrope between mundane quiet and utter chaos. Arms full of screeching toddlers and a wild-child three year old and a five year old who could talk for 14 hours straight without taking a breath, wading through bumble bee riding toys and baseballs and legos. We collapse on the sofa at the end of day and just look at each other and laugh. Or sometimes cry, if you’re a hormonal pregnant lady like myself.

You do it all with such strength and passion. You show such grace when all I have left is to love you small. You step towards me daily as I even step backwards in my stubbornness, moving closer and closer, growing yourself so you can lead and love our family even better.

Dear husband,

Thank you for sticking around in the quiet. No, for choosing to thrive in the quiet.

I know this “isn’t what you signed up for” which is a dumb thing to say but let’s be honest, it isn’t. Does it matter though? Nope, and through the years as we’ve grown and our family has grown, you’ve learned to simply shrug your shoulders and you’ve recognized that with marriage comes all of it so you did actually sign up for this.

And you, dear husband, are a wild one. Anyone who has ever met you knows that. Can’t be tamed? Yep, that’s you, and now (lucky us) it’s all of our kids too! Silliness aside, I know the quiet doesn’t come naturally. Domestic is…well, not exactly your baseline and yet you’ve stepped up and taken on the role as cook and dishwasher and cleaning-up-after-nap-time-enforcer.

Aren’t these just normal expectations? For better or for worse is pretty clear.

That’s not wrong, but it’s still hard; it’s still a daily choice. I never want to stop appreciating that, and I never want to take for granted the wild amount of growth that has happened to get us to where we are now. Thank you, Jesus.

Dear husband,

Thank you for taking hold of the small moments.

The gentle encouragement in the grocery store and giving me last piece of chocolate. Making me electrolyte lemonade and rejoicing at the midwife’s orders that I need to rest more because you love to take care of me. Reminding me to smile and breathe and make lists of what I’m thankful for. Wrestling with the kids so I can clear up dinner in peace–and simply because you love tossing our sweet children across the room.

You have mastered finding quiet in the chaos. Small moments to grab onto for a second of peace, a point of connection. Chores become fun family outings, any trip to the store an excuse for a special treat.

Dear husband,

Thank you for being thankful. For choosing joy.

For accepting this stage in our life and embracing it with humility and sacrifice. It can be hard when every day looks like wake up, feed hungry kids, work, tidy up, screeching toddler, feed kids, nap time, make the five year old go back upstairs 478 times, feed kids, dishes, collapse, put five year old back in bed another 200 times.

And you do the thankful thing a heck of a lot better than me.

The sun continues to rise, the sun continues the set. The toddler continues to screech. I continue to cry for no reason except pregnancy hormones. You continue to care for me in any way you can think of. You’re working from home and this is the first time we’ve had extended, quality time as a family–every day together is a gift. Truly, you show me what it means to treat it as such.

Never a dull moment/utter chaos and mundane/quiet is an odd tightrope to walk; we’re in a unique season in life.

And I just couldn’t be more thankful that I have you leading me through it.

Loving our kids.

Embracing the small moments.

Choosing joy.

Yes, these days our love is quiet.

And you do it so, so well.