He prefers “Maine Cabin Masters” to college football.
He wears socks with his Crocs (of which he owns five pairs).
He makes a living driving dirt from place to place.
He tries to convince me to let him grow out his beard each winter by telling me, “every inch equals an extra degree of warmth.”
He’s great with toddlers because he’s happy to do the same thing over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again with them.
He’s surprisingly sentimental.
He loves Christmas lights as much as I do.
He’s starting to absorb some of my snark (muwahahaha!).
He’s ridiculously finicky about clean windows.
I love this man. I love writing about him (and I need to get better about doing it!). He supports me, encourages me, tolerates me, and loves me. He never used to care much about his birthday, but I’ve cured him of that—the day that he came into the world is a day worth celebrating, so celebrate we will (probably with Legos).
Happy Birthday, Yooper Stewart!