I Have the BEST Husband...

I feel compelled to share this story with you as more proof that I really do have a wonderful husband.

As most of you know, we are under a huge construction project here at our home. Last night, hubby asked if I would go to Menards and pick up 26 sheets of 4 x 8, 1" thick, pink foam board. He needs it for the new garage. I happily agreed to go because he had been working so hard all night. The cement truck had arrived at 4:30. The footings were poured and he was working on leveling out the pad for Saturday. Saturday they will be here to pour the actual floor of the garage. Miles and miles of work to go.

Husband explained that I would need to open the "tonto cover" and use the ratchet straps to tie everything down. One strap near the cab of the truck and another near the tailgate. Sounds simple, doesn't it?

So off to Menards my son and I go.

26 sheets of foam board takes two flat carts to get to the check out. It is also expensive. Once my reeling senses calmed down and my hand quit shaking from forking all that hard earned money over, we made it to the parking lot and to his truck.

Now, I've seen my husband open that silly cover on the bed of the truck dozens of times. However, I never paid particular attention to exactly how he opened it. He hits it, it does a little collapse and voila! Open Tonto. How hard can it be?

Tonto cover will not open.
No matter how much I curse at it.
No matter how hard I pull on the strap.
No matter how hard I hit it just like husband does.
It. Will. Not. Open.
Husband doesn't answer his cell phone.
I repeat, he did not answer his cell phone.

I called my son-in-law.....God love him, he was a tremendous help. I realized then that my husband is very, very strong. He hits the silly thing once and its done. Apparently you need to hit it in the center and not on the side. My son neglects to share this information with me. Later, he said it was out of sheer terror from the look of anger painted on my face. He was afraid to speak. Good boy.

So after fumbling with the silly cover for 15 minutes, we finally get it open. We load 26 sheets of foam board into the bed of the truck. 26 sheets of 4 x 8 foam board takes up A LOT OF ROOM.

Ratchet straps.
I hate ratchet straps. They are the devil's own instruments. I hate them more than pantyhose.
This is where it turns into an Abbot & Costello like routine. I can't reach into the bottom of the truck to hook the strap on. My son is tall enough, but he can't find the thingy to put the hook in.

By this time, I'm cussing like a drunken sailor. I find one of the flat carts, pull it over to the side of the truck to use as a step ladder. I nearly broke my neck when it started to roll away. With me on it. Half in the bed of truck, the other half looking for the flat cart. Arm gets wedged in between the bed of the truck and the 26 sheets of foam board from hell.

Still can't quite reach it.

So we unload the 26 sheets of foam board that we just loaded, I crawl in, hook the stupid ratchet strap in, making sure to toss the end out of the bed so the sheets don't cover it up. I craw out. We load the 26 sheets back into the bed of the truck. I start to calm down. Progress!

Walk over to the other side of the truck, used the flat cart as a step ladder again. After five minutes of more cursing, I manage to find the hole to put the hook in. Finally!

Did I mention I hate ratchet straps? I pulled on the ratchet do-hickey. Once. Twice.

This is where thoughts of divorce began to creep in. Why on earth did he send me??? I'm not made for this stuff. I'm an author for crying out loud! Where the hell is my hunky hero???? The other end of the strap...the first one I hooked? It came undone. Un. Done. As it out. As in unhooked. As in, I'm going to lose my mind.

We've been at this for 30 minutes. Husband still hasn't answered his phone. My poor son keeps calling him, like he's about ready to be eaten by sharks and he's calling the coast guard for help. I can see now that my son was thinking he either wasn't going to get out of the parking lot alive or he made a decision never to send his wife to Menards. Not even for light bulbs.

So out come the 26 sheets of foam board. Again.
Shove the hook in the blasted thingy ma bobber again. Have son hold on tight while I re-load for the third time, 26 sheets of ugly, disgusting, 'If this isn't grounds for divorce, I don't know what is!' flipping foam board. I must have said the last statement out loud because my son got the most terrified look on his face. "You're not serious, are you?" he asked me. "You're not really going to divorce Kevin, are you?" I had to spend two minutes then explaining that sometimes, when mom is mad, she says things she doesn't really mean.

Who in the hell took my flat cart? It is not where I left it. Now, while I'm crying, cursing, covered in dirt, getting my arm lodged in between the tonto cover rail thingy's and the foam board, one of the Menard's employees apparently thought it was a good idea to collect carts. How he did not see me, standing right there next to the cart corral, I do not know. Maybe he hurried along because of the mad woman wrestling with foam board and ratchet straps. But did he have to take the flat cart? Thankfully, my son quickly found another and brought it to me, quietly mentioning that Kevin still isn't answering the phone.

 I can do this. I am a strong, capable woman. I survived two teenage daughters, two tornadoes, two house fires, and a divorce. I survived the big hair of the 80's, disco music, and leggings. I can do this. I can do this.

So after 45 minutes, I now have one, yes ONE ratchet strap, connected. The one near the cab. I reason that it should be much easier to connect the other, because it is near the tailgate and I'll be able to see. Oh, how naive I can be at times.

I tried. I really did. I tried to ratchet it tightly. But, somehow I managed to get the actual strap twisted. It. Will. Not. Go. Every time I try to ratchet it, more chunks of foam board are falling away.

Son mentions that Kevin is still not answering the phone. Son looks panicked. Terrified.

I call my neighbor, Kim. These are my exact words: "Kim, could you go next door, find my husband, and tell him if he does not answer his phone within the next five minutes, his next phone call should be to his former divorce lawyer?" Husband called me back in less than two minutes.

I was crying. I was that mad. My hands and arms are covered in dirt. I have bruises on both arms. I have had two hot flashes, sweat running down my back, I am so mad I could bite nails in half.

Now, here is where I have unequivocal proof that he really is the best husband in the world. He doesn't yell back at me. He doesn't tell me to calm down. He doesn't try to walk me through it. He doesn't tell me to figure it out or go get one of the boys inside to help.

"I'll be right there."

Sometimes, just sometimes, I forget that he is who he is and not someone else.
Within 15 minutes, my husband is there. I'm standing next to the truck, feeling like an absolute idiot. By this time, my son had found the courage to say, "Let me try." He had it ratcheted tightly in less than 30 seconds. I swear to you he did. Just as husband was walking toward us.

Kevin didn't say anything. He just walked over to me, gave me a hug, and said, "I love you. I'll take the truck home, you drive yours."

Wow. After eight years, he still manages to take my breath away and surprise me. Although it shouldn't have surprised me because that is just who he is.

I hugged him back, apologized for telling him to go see his former divorce attorney, for getting so upset, for acting like a crazy lady.

He just smiled, gave me another kiss and a hug and said, "Don't worry honey. Its fine. But I am putting this of Facebook."

God in heaven, I love this man!!!!!!!