Idiosyncra​sies

In other words, what makes me uniquely me.
The other night, while I was fancifully decorating our home for Christmas, my charming hubby came up to me, engulfed me in a hug, and said,“Come here, Freckles".

Pause.

If you know me at all, even a LITTLE bit, you know I detest my freckles…the reasoning is another story for another time, but think: 3rd grade, boys on the playground, relentless teasing.
For the most part, the freckles I had in 3rd grade have all but disappeared. But the sensitivity to the teasing is still there, and, in the entirety of our relationship, Brian has never called me this nickname. It did not sit well. But while my reaction was less than delighted at his harmless moniker, he was left bewildered. Never had he intended insult, and upon my explaining my disdain for the name, he became further confused.

His point of view being that I should be glad that he loves me the way I am (he ALWAYS insists that I do not wear makeup—and true to this, he always says how beautiful I am when I do not). And what is more, he says I should be glad he notices little details about me…my idiosyncrasies; quirks and characteristics unique to me. And truth be told, after a day or so of mulling this around in my head, I am glad for this. I am so thankful that I can be myself around him.

I can tell stupid jokes, or dance around madly, or quietly cry on his shoulder. I can wear makeup and heels, or waltz around bare-faced and bare-footed. Perfection is something I will never attain, but I am so thankful for a husband who loves me where I am at…though he is constantly pushing me to be a better person at the same time.

Looking at myself through his eyes makes me realize that maybe, just maybe, even my freckles are not so bad.