Bit of background: Handsome is a computer guy. I think his title is Information Services Director. So he’s the head computer guy. When things break after hours he’s the guy they call.
The story: Today in the middle of dinner he got a call. Someone’s who-zit wasn’t working. I’m grateful that this person thought to ask if he was in the middle of dinner (which he was) and so they arranged to talk after dinner was over. When we finished Handsome asked which room would be the best for him to work in so he wasn’t interrupted. Our bedroom wouldn’t work because that’s where the kids brush their teeth and all that. Not actually in our room, you understand, but in the master bathroom. Just in case you didn’t figure that out.
I suggested either the garage, which he didn’t think was a great suggestion, or the bathroom, which he also thought was a poor choice. He decided on Little Boy’s room. I wish I had a camera - Mr. IT man set up with his laptop and cell phone, sitting on the floor next to a toddler bed, surrounded by race-car covered walls. Have a caption for that photo? I ended up having to put a child door knob lock thing on the outside of the door so the kids wouldn’t keep opening the door to peek at daddy. Little Boy thought it was a new kind of hide and go seek.
Anyway. They got it sorted. Handsome and I got the kids to bed. Handsome worked (he warned me over dinner that he would need to do some work tonight) while I watched a movie and did some ironing. His ironing. I don’t iron my own clothes. I figure I always have a built in excuse of a 2 year old, a 3 year old, and a 5 year old.
Handsome was looking decidedly worse for wear about halfway through the movie. Obviously the what-zits weren’t doing their job properly. Can you tell I’m a highly technical person? After a bit longer he looked at me and said that he’d have to go into the office because the server wasn’t pinging or something like that. Whatever it was meant that other people wouldn’t be able to do their jobs because the computers wouldn’t be working properly and it’s his job to make sure that they work all the time. So, off he went.
I finished my movie. Ate a chocolate chip cookie. Refrained from eating all the chocolate chip cookies. And now here I am. Thinking.
My husband works hard, really hard. I am fortunate enough to be able to stay home with our children (I’ll admit I don’t always think it’s that fortuitous) because he works hard to support us. Some people might deride the fact that I do things like iron his clothes and make his lunch, you know, so June Cleaver-ish. But right now I’m home writing a post for my blog and he’s at work putting in his 13th hour or so of work today. Isn’t that the least I can do? To honour his hard work by doing a bit of hard work of my own?
I think I should print this out and staple it to my forehead so the next time I’m being lazy about not wanting to make dinner or neglecting to put away clean clothes so he can actually find his socks in the morning (uh, don’t ask me how high the pile of clean clothes is on the floor of our bedroom) I’ll remember that it’s part of being a team. We each have important jobs to do and when they aren’t done properly the team suffers.
So, I’m going to stop writing now and find something that Handsome can take for lunch in the morning.