...and the love song never stops

For not stopping me when you come home to find me dancing wildly in the kitchen to INXS' Don't Change, whether there's music actually playing or not.

For being the quiet to my loud.

For not calling me out on my overzealous use of the rock hands.

For explaining the finer points of time travel to me. I guess things are really starting to pay off for you since you began watching LOST for the first time ever in the middle of season four.

For being the one who makes the RSVP calls when the boys get invited to birthday parties.

(Better yet) For being the one who goes to the birthday parties and sticks around with the other parents, none of whom you know, when you know it would freak me out.

For giving me sons who look like you. And, well, like me. Basically, for the way we look scarily related.

For looking at me every time something marginally funny happens on a television program or movie to see if I "got it," even though, honestly, dude, that annoys the hell out of me.

For letting me have the last slice of leftover pizza when what I made for dinner sucks, even though I know you really want it.

For keeping up the boys' Webkinz sites even when you're out of town, even though I think you secretly like it.

For asking me if I was hungry for a banana when we realized we were alone in the living room last night and had been watching Curious George for 20 minutes.

For calling me five times from Wal-Mart to ask me if we need generic goldfish crackers, do they still make generic goldfish crackers, where are they, how many boxes do we need, do I know that the price went up, and once again on your way home to tell me you forgot to buy them.

For thinking you're so fantastic at Guitar Hero. Strike that. For believing me when I tell you you're so fantastic at Guitar Hero, even though it is I, Tricia Thongs, who rocks this bitch out! P.S. - Rock hands would be going up here.

For not mentioning the two-inch stripe of glaringly dark hair running down the center of my head in stark contrast with the rest of my look.

For laughing at me when I came home from the hairstylist last fall with 1970s Dolly Parton hair, even though I'd called you in tears (granted, brought on by my own laughing) and begged you not to.

For no longer bombarding me with requests to play Facebook games with you.

For this year and that one.

For accepting the fact you're pretty much stuck with me.