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| Home sweet miniature home. |
And Now…
A Love Letter To My Husband To Thank Him For His Endless Works O’ Awesome (A.K.A A Very Public Plea To NOT Leave His Increasingly Insane Wife)-
Dear P.J.:
You are terrific. Really. No, wait, lift your head back up out of your coffee mug/desk/computer screen- this’ll be worth it.
You are so incredibly tolerant and so incredibly choosy with your words. Specifically the cuss ones when you think Nora/our unborn child will hear them and be forever negatively affected. I especially admire this when things don’t go according to plan/the door frame cracks/THE SCREWS ARE SOMEHOW ALL WRONG.
Here is what you accomplished this weekend for me/us/my neuroses/the children/the upcoming cold months known as The Rest Of The Year In Chicago:
-Doors on closets and remaining bedrooms that did not possess them. This endeavor required multiple backyard sawhorse projects which you pulled off in a timely manner…despite the fact that your daughter has a near-crippling fear of the sound of a saw in use. And can only be consoled in such moments of terror by you, her Dad. This slowed you down only slightly.
-The moving and painting of three laughably heavy pieces of the furniture in the baby’s room. This was because I got a bee (hormone) in my bonnet (face/tears) about the slapdash nature of this new kid’s possessions. Forget the fact that mismatched and chipped furniture was good enough for Nora- I was not having it this time around. And now they look great. Hope that hernia heals soon.
-That break you took to read at Mass, do a Costco run, and put both Nora and I down for simultaneous naps. (I’d be embarrassed to admit that I still need someone to put me down for a nap…except for the fact that it was the best nap ever. And nothing beats being tucked in to the words of “I’ll take care of everything.” Not a thing in the world beats it.)
-Removing the ceiling fan blades, helping me soak them in the bathtub, you scraping decades of grease from the undersides (I’m pretty sure our kitchen used to moonlight as an Arby’s), and then reattaching them to the fans at midnight- despite the knowledge that most fans are assembled safely on the ground and not teetering in midair.
-Making sure that you and I sat on the couch- together- to watch The Soup and a goodly bit of House Hunters International before falling asleep. DATE NIGHTS ARE IMPORTANT, DARNIT. (I had been ready to tuck in with a bottle of seltzer and the newest Professor Layton game on the DS, but no sir. Not when romance is alive and well.)
-Drilling that hole to run those cables, saving us crazy ADT rewiring fees and allowing the closet door to close, no longer impeded by the bundle of wires acting as a doorstop. (It’s almost like a real house, now! Also, who’s been authorizing us to just have bundles of wires acting as doorstops?)
-Taking a “break” to supersonically speed-clean the house when you received the intel that your out-of-town uncle was not only stopping over for a surprise visit…but was, in fact, parking the car up by the neighborhood bar as we spoke.
-Dishes, dishes, dishes. Also, the recycling.
-Taking a break to drive to a friend’s house, disassemble a playhouse in their backyard, strap it in, out, around and through our car, drive it back to our place, reassemble the awfully heavy and realistic house…and then spend a copious amount of time in said structure with your toddler. And lots of chalk.
None of these things include the little activities you do daily, like the cat litter (which I haven’t done in years, despite not being pregnant for “years”), Nora’s nightly routines, or making sure that I nevereverever run out of almond milk.
You are swell. Let’s not abandon our wives five mere weeks before she has yet another of your clone-like offspring, okay? But I understand if you need some downtime.
I hear there’s a super sweet little house in the backyard these days. What say I toss a beer through the shutters, yeah?
You’ve earned it.
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