Open mouth. Insert foot.

I have this uncanny ability to make things happen entirely based upon the expression of my own negativity.

So much so, that I KNEW that if I got on my blog and publicly bitched about my husband not taking hints, even though he doesn't read my blog he would somehow come through and do exactly what I wanted him to do.

Which makes me feel like an ass. Although a rather-good-at-prognosticating ass.

He came home late last night, which should have been my first clue. We got the kids in bed, watched a little TV, and for some odd reason he actually came to bed the same time I did, which should have been my second clue. So I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth - and there on the counter was the mecca of all birthday gifts: the jeweler's giftbag.

Not only did I get this, I also got these. And get this - he made his own card. It said, "The small one on the right is from Alex. The small one on the left is from Emma. And the big one in the middle is from me."

Then he got Alex and Emma to put their fingerprints on the card, flanking his own.

Now if that's not the sweetest, most romantic thing ever, I don't know what is. He literally put their fingerprints on the card. No one else will ever have a card like that. Because those are my babies' fingerprints. And yes, I just called my husband my baby. Which totally sounds weird, but we'll just look past that for the moment.

And yes, I cried. Not because of the jewelry (that would be a little materialistic of me, wouldn't it? Ah, screw it, what girl doesn't love jewelry?). But because of the card. Because of the teeny-tiny little smudges of Alex and Emma. And the ginormous heart of my forgiving, wonderful, sweet, loving husband.

He did good. And he's totally redeemed himself for not taking hints.