Cool By Association.

Did you know that I'm married to a DJ?  That's right.  He's a legit scratching-up-some-genuine-vinyl kind of DJ.  He does the...cuts...mixes...?  I have no idea what they're called.  Once he even asked me to do something called "drops" for his internet radio show.  No seriously.  I swear my husband is cooler than your husband.

He has been on real life tours.

He has performed in front of thousands of people over the years.

He knows people who know people.

None of this stuff does he willingly talk about though.  He's all humble and stuff.

Somehow, I tend to think this means I'm cool.  I'm not.  Not in the least.  (Need I remind you that I'm at home on a Saturday night geeking out about starting Advent and writing a blog post?)

I'm a total generic white girl.  I can't rap, but I try.  I can't dance, but I try.  I can't DJ, but I did try that once.  It's not as easy as it looks.

Today, he turned on some music while we were hanging out with our kids.  He was holding Eva, and I was dancing with her and rapping along with the song.  She and I were having so much fun, and I glanced up and saw my husband's sweet face.  He wasn't making fun of me.  He wasn't laughing at how ridiculous I really must have looked and sounded.  He had a genuine sort of smile on his face as he looked at me as though I was really someone.  I wasn't generic to him.

It always amazes me when I have these realizations, and this is one I tend to have over and over.  Once upon a time, Bird chose me- not because I'm the prettiest or the smartest or the funniest- but because he loved me and all my crazy.  I am one seriously lucky gal.

I will very happily take being cool by association.