When I got married to this man
I had no idea what awaited me. I was young, obnoxiously in love, and totally psyched about married life. We have had a wonderfully blessed three years together, but those years have not been without the usual married growing pains.
The differences between us began to emerge, well, immediately. One such difference is that Michael is a total do-it-yourselfer. When we moved into our house, we had to get rid of the horrid mirrored backsplashes in the kitchen. (I am, only now, wishing we had taken "before" pictures.) Long story short, we ended up with giant, gaping holes where our backsplashes used to be. My first instinct was to call a professional. Michael's? "Honey, I'm going to spackle."
I had no idea what spackle was. Nor did I care. I was just worried that I would have a hole behind my stove permanently.
We fortunately have no hole above the stove -- the spackle worked, for the record. But that was just the beginning of Michael's DIY revolution.
In the past few years we've built a garden, re-tiled parts of the kitchen, laid (lain?) hardwood in the living room and dining room, and I'm sure there's been more. And with every project, I get the same twinge of oh my goodness, what have we gotten ourselves into?
A few weeks ago, the garage door broke. Again. And that garage door is one of the few things Michael has paid a professional to deal with. But the other day, he came home and decided he was at least going to give it a go. I chose to take a nap, rather than panic -- he had already disassembled a few crucial beams. But when I woke up?
The door was fixed, friends. Fixed! Who fixes their own garage door? Nobody! But ladies, my husband is the man.
Just remember girls: he's already married.