Hubbie always comes to the rescue when I need it. He can see it in my face, hear it in my tone, and judge by the way my body sags with every sigh. Despite the fact that he himself is often tired from a long day at work, he’ll step up and help out when I’m having a hard time, with whatever task it is I need to prepare at home. Cooking. Changing baby girl. Bathing her.
Tonight, he washed the dishes, and I was really grateful for it.
When it comes to doing the dishes, you’re one of two people: you’re either a person who doesn’t mind doing the dishes, like me. I find it therapeutic, and though when I make a cake it becomes awfully tedious with the amount of dishes I end up with stacked on the dish rack, I still don’t mind the cleansing process.
Or. Or you can be like Hubbie, and really detest washing dishes.
The fact that he doesn’t like it so much, makes me all the more grateful for him helping me out today.
Hubbie: “come on, I’ll do the dishes.”
Me: “No, you did them yesterday…”
Hubbie: “But I want my music on if I’m doing them.”
Me: “it’s ok, I’ll do them.”
Hubbie: “you’re sick! I’ll do them.”
Me: (standing uncertainly) “well I’ll go do something else then.”
No rest for the wicked.
I’ve been sick, for like, ages. I’m seriously over it. One thing or another it is with me lately. And I appreciate that I have a husband that not only will help me on consecutive nights of the week, but that he will help despite the fact he hates having to do it… but would rather he did it, then let me be all sickly and moaning over it.
Gosh he’s the best.