Why I Love My Math Man

I love that at the end of a 12 hour day of math, my husband comes home energized.

I love that I can walk around the house tidying up and find little pieces of paper all over the place with totally incomprehensible writing on them, like the little discovery on the kitchen table this evening.


I love that my husband unflinchingly admitted, well before I was a sure thing, that he watched Good Will Hunting on the eve before math exams in college to psych himself up.  

I love that it is not a completely uncommon thing for me to be woken up in the middle of the night by passionate mutterings of math equations from the other side of the bed.

I love that when we see dorky math jokes on tshirts or bumper stickers he doesn't even pretend to think they are dumb.

I love that he can call me from a three day math conference and tell me that he's genuinely having a really good time and that the talks are incredibly interesting.

I love that his math brain has translated into a phenomenal ability to play the piano and that I get to be serenaded by this talent on an almost daily basis.

I love that he's ok with the fact that my eyes glaze over when he's trying to explain some particularly exciting point from his class that day but that he continues to explain anyway.

Most of all I love that he loves what he's doing. And that he was clearly meant to do it.