Of My Right-Hand Man

There is one member of this family who does not quite receive as much blog time as the rest - heck, even the dogs get more play than my poor husband.

My man is amazing.  And I don't tell him nearly enough.

This evening I hosted a girls night/Pampered Chef show in our home.  My husband knows that getting our house ready for such events is a task for me because we have a two-year-old and it shows.  And she has a little bit of a lazy Momma and that shows.  So our house can go from 0-60 on the level of chaos in just one day (or less).  When you add a few of those days together . . . well, you get the picture.

Therefore, even though he knows I've been home all day to get things like this done, what does my husband do?  He walks straight in the door from work and says, "What can I do to help?"  Not because the house still looked horrible (it was actually looking pretty great by that point), not because I was freaking out (I was clipping coupons on the couch) and not because a tiny toddler was going crazy (she was watching Dora and yelling, "Hi, Daddy!").  No, his question was intentional.  He had spent all day preparing himself to come home and be at my beck and call.

And so it was that even though I was ready to start winding down from the cleaning process, my husband cleaned our bathroom, took out the trash, fished a stray cookie sheet from under the stove, prepared dinner for he and our daughter and helped me put last minute things in their places.

And then, his reward for all of this work?  Being shut up in our bedroom for three and a half hours while his home was over-run with women and babies.  And then, every once in awhile (thrice, to be exact), changing a certain little girl's pants because she gets so caught up in playing she forgets where she needs to potty.

That's my man.

He's the best.