I miss my husband. (Here he is, lying on the bed he made for us just over 10 years ago.)
He’s at work today, though not on the clock. He’s a cabinetmaker, so work is a cabinet shop. He’s there working on the bunk beds he’s been building for our sons for months now. The shop there is so much bigger than ours here at home, and there’s no one else there—no coworkers and no family members—today to slow him down. I know why he has to be there, but I don’t have to like it.
He’s my best friend. I’d rather hear his corny jokes and his stories that I’ve already heard so many times than sit here and edit an article for a medical journal while our 3-year-old scatters toys on the floor all around me. He’s a silly man, a gentle man, a kind man, a daddy man, a sweetheart. Why didn’t we just buy bunk beds? We’ve been married almost 12 years, and I still want to be around him all the time. Stupid bunk beds.
2 comments:
I know. I'm just greedy. I wish he were as good a businessman as I am a businesswoman so that he could be self-employed and around here always. (But he's done the self-employment thing, and it didn't work for him.)
Sounds just like my husband.
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