I’m finally starting to feel a bit more normal. The 2 1/2 hour nap after work wasn’t exactly normal, but I am feeling more productive. It helps that other than having to drive me around, I’m back in a groove at work and my co-workers don’t seem to be afraid that I’m going to implode in front of them.
It was a good day. And I’ve got brownies in the oven.
That’s how I knew I was closer to fine; I felt like cooking, and there’s a mess in the kitchen.
I don’t want to be the same as I ever was; I can’t help but think we go through these major, traumatic life events and we ought to come out the other side a little different than when we went in. I definitely am different, but it’s internal, just a slight shift. My “normal” has to include a return to puttering around in the kitchen and washing the clothes.
Speaking of which: After chauffeuring me to work this morning, I bade my husband farewell. I was surprised to find him at home when my other driver dropped me off around 5PM. He was on his way out; he looked awful, exhausted.
I said, “You look terrible, baby….what did you do all day?”
He smiled a weak smile, through the exhausted look on his face. “I was finishing up your other Valentine’s Day gift.”
And he left. I wandered around the house, but nothing jumped out at me. I was clueless.
After the aforementioned 2 1/2 hour nap, I headed to the basement to get some laundry going. The aforementioned husband told me he was out of clean underwear. My recovery from eye surgery, thus far, has not included much in the line of domestic duties; but I’m getting back to normal, right?
And that’s where I discovered the source of my husband’s exhaustion – the late night hammering and sanding I’d heard after midnight. I had assumed it was a repair project for the store, but no.
When we moved into his house, we adjusted to doing the laundry in the basement. I have a clothesline outside for sheets and stuff, but the”line dry” or “dry flat” sweaters and shirts have ended up suspended from various pipes and joists all over the basement. At times, I’ve had tights and underwear and swimsuits and workout clothes draped over every solid surface down there. It was messy, and awkward and occasionally embarrassing.
Well, he took it upon himself to create something a little bit more appropriate. I know we ladies aren’t supposed to get all excited about domestic gifts – we’re supposed to turn up our noses at vacuum cleaners or brooms or things that help us maintain the household, hold out for the jewelry or clothes or fancy outings. But this guy, he’s got my number. He pays attention, and he notices what I’m doing and why it’s hard sometimes, and he does what he can to make it easier.
I am just feeling all sorts of blessed. It may not look like much to you, but he’s gone and found another way to capture my heart.