I could wax poetic about how sweet, wonderful, loving and thoughtful you are, but anyone reading this blog for 20 minutes would have already gathered that I think you're the frosting on my cake.
What I will say is that I know you love me, and that is something I sometimes don't make easy, especially on days when I have had 2 hours and 47 minutes of sleep, neverending frustrating meetings and a very short fuse. Your ability to hold in your words and see past my stomping around and taking my bad day out on you is worth so much more than any amount of Valentine bouquets, fancy dinners or mushy cards (though your cards are pretty good).
And the fact that you put yourself on a relatively insane diet for a full 30 days and did not cheat with even the thinnest string of cheese (or anything else for that matter) JUST to support me because I was doing it? I don't have words.
I'd be making you a triple-decker peanut butter and grape-jelly sandwich at midnight if I didn't worry it'd make you sick after not having any of the ingredients for the last month. Or if I thought I could emulate your technique.
So instead I blow you 35 kisses. Happy birthday Jon.