I have a lot of complaints about the trials I undergo as a result of Michael’s job.  I’ve joked about beginning a support group for other carpenter’s wives, tentatively named “The Carhartt Widows.”  I’ve written, in theory only, sadly, a country song entitled “Drill Bits in My Dryer and Sawdust in My Sheets.”  I mutter obviously as I sweep up yet another full dust-pan of job site gravel. And the eyerolling I perform during the eight-hour cleaning process (drills, receipts, scrap wood, saws, architectural plans, three bags of trash) that is required whenever someone needs to sit in the passenger seat of the truck will, in all likelihood, injure me someday.

But there are some positives.

Like when I say, “Hey, don’t you think it would be nice if we had another cabinet here? Maybe something with a plate rack?”

Then he says, “Yeah, that could work.” Out comes the measuring tape and the scrap paper and then, two days later, this appears:

Yeah, that part’s pretty awesome.

I still hate the drills bits thing, though.

 

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