Today is the feast day of my husband’s patron saint — and as a little aside, Paul’s dad actually wanted to name him “Vincent de Paul” but his mom said no way. So they settled on Paul Vincent, a name that suits him perfectly. I always wondered if we’d wind up naming one of our boys Vincent — it’s such a good, strong name. But with a last name like Balducci, I dunno “Vincent Balducci” just sounds like a kid destined to have a ton of chest hair and wear thick gold necklaces (plural). Because everyone knows Vincent = Vinny if given enough time and Italian genes. (I have a godson named Vincent, and he has never been Vinny but he is Flemish and those folks are different, more formal, less hairy.)
To honor my husband on the feast of his patron, here is a sweet little text exchange that gives you good insight into our life as man and wife. Enjoy it now; I’ll probably wake up in the middle of the night feeling guilty that I exposed my son in this fashion…
Don’t you love how quickly we change gears? How soon we recover from trauma? One afternoon we’re discussing xrays and enemas, the next day we’ve moved on to in-house date night. With sushi! (hotdogs for the chuds — and three points if you can name that movie reference)
And here is a sweet side of my man that is brought out every day by the presence of our precious, dainty warrior princess.
This is my man after a day at work, where he is in the throes of moving his office (exciting but intense). And then he comes home to help bathe this gal, and then go read to Henry (they are doing C.S. Lewis! Hooray!), and then help a boy with his math. He was so busy in part because he freed me and one of the big boys up to go serve my brother down the street by holding his fussy little baby so he could do a quick project at his house. So Elliott and I were able to do a corporal work of mercy because Paul was willing to do the same (though he would never consider any of these evening “chores” to be works of mercy. He just loves life in our home.)
I know I’m going on and on…I usually don’t write about Paul because (mostly) I feel like the more I gush the more I’m setting myself up to get in some kind of spat with him. Which is dumb mostly because we just don’t spat, but also because I don’t believe in karma. I do believe in irony, however, but I’m going to just ignore all the potential heaps this could bestow. As the cool kids say, it’s all good.