I promised my husband I would preface this post with the following:
Last weekend, he
- initiated family bonding time with a 9 a.m. showing of Night at the Museum 2 and all-you-can-eat pancakes at The Movie Tavern
- mowed the lawn
- cleaned out the garage
- unloaded the dishwasher
- loaded the dishwasher
- attempted to bring the twin mattress set down from the attic.
…the latter resulted in this:
(other than a few scrapes, he’s ok. Don’t worry.)
I wholeheartedly appreciate all of his hard work and leadership and contribution to our family. He is truly amazing. I love him. I could never have dreamed of a better husband and father.
However, this amazing husband and father didn’t miss an opportunity throughout the weekend to remind me what an amazing husband and father he is. He insists that his right leg’s journey from the attic to my craft room has nothing to do with an overly-puffed up chest and self-congratulatory ego.
He so adamantly held to this belief that he fearlessly continued to point out how wonderful he was, even after we had a hole in our ceiling the size of New Mexico. Fully aware of his need for affirmation, I assured him that he was indeed a wonderful husband and father, but then gently suggested he stop verbalizing this belief before we had to spend even more money on household repairs.
He ignored me.
The self-aggrandizement continued.
This morning, we woke up to this:
Hmm. I’ll leave that up to you.
I’m not sayin’ a word.