I could never attempt to put into words how much I love The Husband. Just yesterday I spent the entire day with The Doctor and he cancelled his plans to stay home with The Monsters. So I left the house carefree, had a tiring but lovely day with The Doctor. I headed home around 9pm and had a vision of walking in the door and having some dessert and TV time with The Husband before bed.
Um, nope.
The Monsters were still awake. And lively. Probably in that “I’m-so-tired-I’m-going-into-a-manic-state” kind of lively, but lively nonetheless. And evidence of dinner was everywhere. On the table, on the stove, in the sink and all over the counters. The Husband had obviously just bathed The Monsters and I found him putting lotion on The Elliot. He looked shell-shocked. Exhausted, like he’d just been through battle alone. And I guess technically he had. He’d been on his own with our heathen children for 12 hours. So I jumped into the fray and helped lull The Monsters into a quiet holding pattern (aka sleep), and then I found The Husband working on the dinner mess. I requested he put away the perishables and then ordered him to the couch to have dessert. We ate some strawberries and watched the news… well I watched the news. He mostly slept.
The Husband told me later on that he didn’t get half of what he wanted to do done, and he gets why I get so frustrated about most everything. And it took me a little while to think on it, but I turned to him and said this: “Honey, I’m kind of glad you didn’t get anything done today. Because I do it everyday and I end most days feeling like a complete failure because I didn’t get anything done. So thanks for failing today.”
I love my husband. And his failures. But not his messes. Those I barely tolerate. Time for some barely tolerating in the kitchen.
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