Paying Tribute to he who makes it all happen
I don't say it enough and I should. There is a person who is dearer to me than life itself and to whom I truly owe everything - my husband. If you aren't prepared for gushy, well, I hope you are.
Today is laundry day. Every Wednesday night, my sweet carries the hamper to the laundry room for me, so I'll have it early in the morning. This morning I went to start getting the job done and discovered he'd put the first batch in for me, all washed, ready to be dried. "To save you time," he said, and my heart melted and I fell in love with him all over again.
My Mom & Dad; me, Honey, his mother,
son Chris, Best Man and daughter , Kim, maid of honorA little thing, yes, but so typical of the kind of man he is. I've shared my life with him for many years now. I was twenty-six when we met, a divorcee with two children, ages 18 months, and 6. We dated for four years and ultimately married on the anniversary of our first date. He helped me raised the two older children to adulthood, being a exemplary father, loving them as if they were his own. He even adopted my daughter, Kim when she was eight. He wanted to adopt my son, but Chris remembered living with his father and couldn't bring himself to consent. Still, my husband and Chris are as close as any father and son would be.
Together, we had our beautiful daughter, Lindsay. A wonderful young woman and so much like her Dad it's scary sometimes.
After working for forty+ years as an accountant/CPA, he retired and I was so happy to have him around more. He was never the type to bring work or the stress of it home, but I honestly missed him during his working hours. He'd get up at five and get home around 5:30, tuck in for dinner and a couple of hours of television before going to bed and getting ready to do it all again.
Several months after we married, I had to have surgery and my situation at my job changed while I was out. It was miserable to go back into the office two months later, where I'd been a secretary, to find I'd been demoted to receptionist because the temp, "Worked out really well." No pay cut, but still...
Things deteriorated and one day I called Honey and told him I wanted to find another job. Without hesitation, he said, "Do it. They don't deserve you."
When we married, I'd said to him, "I wish I could quit work and stay home with the kids." His answer was, "Yeah, me too," and I knew I was destined to work forever.
The day I quit, I scoured the newspaper and marked several job possibilities. When he came home, I told him what my plans were, but he had something else in mind.
"We can manage nicely on my salary," he said. "From now on, you work for me."
I can still hear those words today. The sound of shackles being released. The sound of freedom. *This is the part where the needle scratches across the record.* Freedom, my Aunt Patoot. While I loved being home, the work I'd kind of skimmed over while working out became my full time job. However, I love a clean house and I dove in, possibly working harder than I ever had, but I never wanted Honey to regret giving me the ability to stay home.
The kids grew up, moved out, two married and had children of their own. We built our dream home in 2002, much too much house and decided to sell just as the real estate bubble was bursting in 2008. My honey wanted to retire and I wanted him too. He'd grown weary of managing other people's money and we wanted to spend more time together. We sold at a loss, moved closer to our oldest daughter and bought a condo which we absolutely adore. It's perfect for us.
We shared the household duties, making it quick work and then enjoyed our own interests.
I've always read a lot and started reading romance novels about that time, starting with Phillipa Gregory's The Other Boleyn Girl, a marvelous combination of history and fiction. I was hooked and have since read everything Gregory has written - I simply adore her way of combining real history with her take on how conversations and events might have happened, had historians been privy to every aspect of her subject's lives.
I devoured historical romance novels, and told Honey about them, story by story. He listened, even asked questions, but I know he had no real interest, he did it for me. Just as I listen to his enthusiastic discussions about football, basketball, and the occasional baseball game. I don't understand most of the mechanics of any of them, but I do love his excitement.
He's always known that I wanted to write and has always been very encouraging. However, life has a way of detouring us on the way to what we should be doing with ourselves, so writing was something I never pursued seriously. I played at it through the years, but concentration was at a premium with a house full of kids and more responsibility than I could shake a stick at.
"Do you think you could write one of those?" Honey asked after I'd gone through the story of one of the most compelling romances I've ever read, Mary Balogh's Simply Love.
And that's how it all started. Now, I spend most every day typing away, while Honey takes care of the house. We'd never eat if was left up to me, I simply hate to take the time out to cook. He does the grocery shopping, he'll vacuum, though dusting isn't his thing at all. He cleans the carpets regularly and generally is busier than a retired guy should be. "I'm bored," is a phrase no one dares utter in our house, because boredom simply doesn't exist in our world.
He takes the pressure off me to be the typical housewife and gives me the freedom to do what I so love to do - tell stories. Yes, I tell him I love him a gazillion times a day, you can never say it too much. I don't ever want him to wonder.
He's my everything, for all he's given me, but more, for all he is. A fine man to the core, loving, kind, and always there. Encouraging, critical when he sees something isn't working, helpful, and that smile of his is killer. My favorite thing is when I put it on his face - yeah, that's a great feeling.
He hates laundry though, with a purple passion, but he'll put that first batch in to save me time. You've gotta love it.
Oops, the dryer just buzzed, so I'm off. Somehow it give me great pleasure to hang and fold his clothes. Truly, I wouldn't trade that task for anything in the world, but he'll be around later to carry them to the closet for me. "My job," he says.
Till next time,Luv,Brita
Today is laundry day. Every Wednesday night, my sweet carries the hamper to the laundry room for me, so I'll have it early in the morning. This morning I went to start getting the job done and discovered he'd put the first batch in for me, all washed, ready to be dried. "To save you time," he said, and my heart melted and I fell in love with him all over again.
My Mom & Dad; me, Honey, his mother, son Chris, Best Man and daughter , Kim, maid of honorA little thing, yes, but so typical of the kind of man he is. I've shared my life with him for many years now. I was twenty-six when we met, a divorcee with two children, ages 18 months, and 6. We dated for four years and ultimately married on the anniversary of our first date. He helped me raised the two older children to adulthood, being a exemplary father, loving them as if they were his own. He even adopted my daughter, Kim when she was eight. He wanted to adopt my son, but Chris remembered living with his father and couldn't bring himself to consent. Still, my husband and Chris are as close as any father and son would be.
Together, we had our beautiful daughter, Lindsay. A wonderful young woman and so much like her Dad it's scary sometimes.
After working for forty+ years as an accountant/CPA, he retired and I was so happy to have him around more. He was never the type to bring work or the stress of it home, but I honestly missed him during his working hours. He'd get up at five and get home around 5:30, tuck in for dinner and a couple of hours of television before going to bed and getting ready to do it all again.
Several months after we married, I had to have surgery and my situation at my job changed while I was out. It was miserable to go back into the office two months later, where I'd been a secretary, to find I'd been demoted to receptionist because the temp, "Worked out really well." No pay cut, but still...
Things deteriorated and one day I called Honey and told him I wanted to find another job. Without hesitation, he said, "Do it. They don't deserve you."
When we married, I'd said to him, "I wish I could quit work and stay home with the kids." His answer was, "Yeah, me too," and I knew I was destined to work forever.
The day I quit, I scoured the newspaper and marked several job possibilities. When he came home, I told him what my plans were, but he had something else in mind.
"We can manage nicely on my salary," he said. "From now on, you work for me."
I can still hear those words today. The sound of shackles being released. The sound of freedom. *This is the part where the needle scratches across the record.* Freedom, my Aunt Patoot. While I loved being home, the work I'd kind of skimmed over while working out became my full time job. However, I love a clean house and I dove in, possibly working harder than I ever had, but I never wanted Honey to regret giving me the ability to stay home.
The kids grew up, moved out, two married and had children of their own. We built our dream home in 2002, much too much house and decided to sell just as the real estate bubble was bursting in 2008. My honey wanted to retire and I wanted him too. He'd grown weary of managing other people's money and we wanted to spend more time together. We sold at a loss, moved closer to our oldest daughter and bought a condo which we absolutely adore. It's perfect for us.
We shared the household duties, making it quick work and then enjoyed our own interests.
I've always read a lot and started reading romance novels about that time, starting with Phillipa Gregory's The Other Boleyn Girl, a marvelous combination of history and fiction. I was hooked and have since read everything Gregory has written - I simply adore her way of combining real history with her take on how conversations and events might have happened, had historians been privy to every aspect of her subject's lives.
I devoured historical romance novels, and told Honey about them, story by story. He listened, even asked questions, but I know he had no real interest, he did it for me. Just as I listen to his enthusiastic discussions about football, basketball, and the occasional baseball game. I don't understand most of the mechanics of any of them, but I do love his excitement.
He's always known that I wanted to write and has always been very encouraging. However, life has a way of detouring us on the way to what we should be doing with ourselves, so writing was something I never pursued seriously. I played at it through the years, but concentration was at a premium with a house full of kids and more responsibility than I could shake a stick at.
"Do you think you could write one of those?" Honey asked after I'd gone through the story of one of the most compelling romances I've ever read, Mary Balogh's Simply Love.
And that's how it all started. Now, I spend most every day typing away, while Honey takes care of the house. We'd never eat if was left up to me, I simply hate to take the time out to cook. He does the grocery shopping, he'll vacuum, though dusting isn't his thing at all. He cleans the carpets regularly and generally is busier than a retired guy should be. "I'm bored," is a phrase no one dares utter in our house, because boredom simply doesn't exist in our world.
He takes the pressure off me to be the typical housewife and gives me the freedom to do what I so love to do - tell stories. Yes, I tell him I love him a gazillion times a day, you can never say it too much. I don't ever want him to wonder.
He's my everything, for all he's given me, but more, for all he is. A fine man to the core, loving, kind, and always there. Encouraging, critical when he sees something isn't working, helpful, and that smile of his is killer. My favorite thing is when I put it on his face - yeah, that's a great feeling.
He hates laundry though, with a purple passion, but he'll put that first batch in to save me time. You've gotta love it.
Oops, the dryer just buzzed, so I'm off. Somehow it give me great pleasure to hang and fold his clothes. Truly, I wouldn't trade that task for anything in the world, but he'll be around later to carry them to the closet for me. "My job," he says.
Till next time,Luv,Brita
No comments have been added yet.
