It's 7 o'clock. Do you know where my husband is?

Did I ever tell you the story of when a Salt Lake City police officer came to our house to question me about the whereabouts of my husband?  The husband to whom I had not spoken since shouting "I love you!" before slamming the door on my way to work, more than 12 hours earlier.  The husband who was not answering his work or cell phones.  The husband who owns the same make and model of car the cop was telling me had been involved in a hit-and-run accident.  Did I know where he was?  Did I know if he had any business in Bountiful (which is about 15 minutes north of our house)?  Did I know his license plate number?  Could he be mistaken for a average height woman, with long blond curly hair?

With the exception of the last question, I didn't have any answers for the police officer that day.  (And if you're wondering: Joel is a tall drink of water with short brown hair and a beard.  Nobody's confusing him with a lady.  Unless we're killing Nazi Zombies and then he's my bitch.  Just kidding!) It turned out to be some weird case of mistaken identity (note: eye witness accounts are notoriously unreliable), but for about half an hour I was convinced, CONVINCED, that my precious husband had been carjacked and was lying in a ditch somewhere between our house and work.  I called his cell phone about a million times in that 30 minutes and finally, when I heard the key turn the lock in our door, I flung the door open and I squeezed him harder than anyone has ever been squozen in the history of the world.  I have never been so happy to see anyone in my life!  Phew!

So, it's times like today when I have to think back on that day and remember how scared I was at the thought of losing him.  I have to remember how much I love him and how I'd be lost without him.  Really, I would.  I've only known him for, what, like 4 years?  And, at the risk of sounding (even more) overly schmoopy, he makes me really understand what all the fuss is about; I finally know why so many books and movies and plays and songs have been written about love.  I've never been more happy in my life, which is why my family has embraced Joel so wholeheartedly.  They can see how happy he makes me and it makes them love him because I'm not such an almighty bitch anymore.

That being said, he is driving me crazy!  We had finally gotten the house to a point where it didn't make me want to cry when I walked in.  There are still boxes, but they are much more manageable.  There is clutter here and there, but it's pretty easily dispensed with.  It was starting to really come together and was feeling more like "home" and less like "crazy-ass crap dumpster." 

Enter my husband, "the electrician."  For the past 4 days, he has been putting recessed lighting in three rooms.  He has absolutely torn the entire house apart and there is not one room that hasn't been affected.  Not one!  Everything is dirty and dusty and there doesn't seem to be any end in sight.  I can't really clean effectively because, whenever I finish sweeping or wiping, it's just covered in dust and grime again in 5 seconds. Why bother?  I can understand how people let their houses become overrun with trash and dirt and clutter.  It's so overwhelming!

This is a HUGE project and he's doing it all by himself!  Believe me, I know it sounds like I don't appreciate all of the work he's doing and how hard it is.  But, so help me, if I have to listen to him wander around the house asking me if I know where this tool is or if I've seen that tool lying around... BOOM! goes the dynamite (and also my head).  It's all made worse by the fact that there's not really much I can do to help him, so I feel like an a-hole when he's up in the dirty attic and I'm watching Mistresses on BBC America on demand (which is awesome, by the way, I highly recommend it for your daily requirements of complete trash). 

For instance, right now he's installing a smoke detector in the family room and I'm... sitting here, drinking wine, eating prosciutto, and writing a blog post about how annoying it is that I can't watch TV when I come home.  My dog is lying in a basket of clean clothes, that I could be folding, but all I can do is muster a half-hearted "Luuuucyyyyyy... come ooooonnnn!" and then I think, "Eh, at least she had a bath yesterday, so she's kind of clean."  I could be wrong, but I think all this has driven me to distraction.  And to drink.  Although, to be honest, just about anything drives me to drink, so that doesn't really count.

He took off Friday, today, and tomorrow to get it all done and hopefully, if there is a God in heaven, he will be done tomorrow.  At least he is still in good spirits.  When I was trying to help him get some wire from the wall down here to the attic up there, I said, "I think it's too big.  It won't fit in the hole."  After which I heard a muffled, "That's what she said."  And I remembered again why I love him so.

Comments

[Mel]

Oh my. Good luck with the home improvements! You're lucky to have such a handy husband.

[kristin]

At least he's cheery about it. My husband HATES home improvement stuff. I have to whine for weeks to get him to do them. If it's anything I could conceivably figure out myself, I'll just do it to save myself the aggravation.

Now, ask him to do anything involving demolition or his sheep, and he's all over it. So unfair.

[Joel]

My sweet baby does love me. Even if she does hate me at the same time.

[Carrie]

I think "hate" is a bit strong. I would say it's more like "ever so slightly annoyed" or maybe "will definitely have a headache when we go to bed." I could never hate you, love.