The Measure of Love: He Gave Me a Cheese Grater

I realize that the title of my journal sounds a bit on the grandiose side... but it's what this post is about.

Love, and the many ways to measure it.

It first came to mind when my husband and I were doing the shopping together. We were at Wal*mart, and he was off to get something that I needed while I continued to fill our shopping cart with many and varied necessities. The item he was collecting was simple enough; I needed a new cheese grater.

I have a perfectly good cheese grater already, but the design didn't suit me and I found it difficult to grate cheese. And I grate a lot of freaking cheese, since a) I have a big family and thus recipes require more b) I cook a lot and c) what can I say? I love cheese!

So, anyway, I had added to my list, one cheese grater. The Man went off to get it. The one I wanted was a simple tower, four sides, about six dollars. And he came back with a cheese grater, but not the one that I had planned on getting. No, this one was a lot nicer. More like, the designer brand of cheese graters. One that I would have LIKED to get, had I been on my own, but deemed the cost too high, and would have settled for the less expensive one (and been fine with that, you know).

When he presented me with the fancy cheese grater, my heart kinda leaped. I felt all warm inside. I took it carefully in my hands, turning it over, and exclaiming over its flawless design. With this cheese grater, I could grate some good cheese.

But that's not what the warm fuzzies I was feeling was about... not at all.

I felt all warm and gooshy for him, The Man, MY man.

You see, in that moment, the fact that he thought I was worthy of, deserved, the fancy cheese grater spoke volumes to me. He knew the one I had planned on getting, and instead, bypassed it for the nicer (and yeah, more expensive) one, because he knew that I would prefer it.

Because he loves me.

It sounds silly, I know. That love is measurable by a cheese grater. But really, it's not about the cheese grater at all; it's the intent behind it.

No, I'm sure he wasn't thinking anything more than "my wife would really like this one, I'll get it for her". I'm sure it was a very simple act, deciding to get that one and not the other. I doubt that he meant, or even considered, that I would read so much into it. That I would turn inward and introspective. That something so simple, just a common gesture of courtesy on his part, would mean so very much to me.

I don't take for granted that he is like this, everyday, with me. He does a hundred little things, everyday, that shows me that I am first in his heart, always. He is unfailingly kind to me. He considers me, always, first, before he considers himself. And it shows. It always shows.

Even in the most simple of ways.

And to him, I say, babe, I love you too, and I'll grate you some damn fine cheese with that grater.