Yesterday my husband came home from work at 1pm, grabbed me and said, "Get your suit."
We dropped everything, told the kids to do their homework, and ran off to our favorite bay, where we raced like raving lunatics into it's cooling waters.
(Or rather crept like whimpy lunatics into it's chilling waters, as it was pouring rain).
Upon our return I got ready for my night class and, lo and behold, my husband prepared dinner--his famous pipeline pizza, yum!- so I could have food in my stomach. "Better to teach with, my dear" he said.
When I came home from my night class I rubbed my eyes and blinked hard. Then rubbed my eyes again. The dinner dishes were done.
I stayed up late helping my daughter with her history day project then woke up at 5:30 a.m to . . . you know, get-a-life again. My husband came down at 6:00 a.m. and said "You look tired! Why don't you go back to bed."
My eyebrows furrowed into a question mark. "Is it my birthday?" I said.
"Christmas? Valentines? Labor Day? Arbor Day?"
"Season premiere of The Office?"
"You just look tired. Go back to bed and I'll get the boys off to school."
So I DID . . . And HE did.
I woke up just in time to wave to the boys from my bedroom window and shout, "Have a nice day!" before falling back into bed.
I slept and I slept and I slept and I slept and finally, twenty minutes later I awoke refreshed, smiled sweetly at my husband and said, "Thank you! But I'm only a closet feminist now!" to which he smiled, raised his eyes to the ceiling and said, "Hallelujah!"
Then I did something I haven't done in years (or weeks, maybe). I ironed his work clothes.
Honestly I have no explanations for this sudden turn of events. He doesn't even read my blog! (But that's a different complaint).
FIVE HOURS LATER: My husband just picked me up from my class, carried my books, and took me to lunch at my favorite restaurant, where he dropped-kicked 35 bucks on me.
Maybe he does read my blog.
(If he keeps this up, I may just fall in love with him.)