The new year always inspires us to try new things, become better people, set goals, yadda, yadda, yadda. It’s not that I’m against all that “new year, new me” stuff. It’s just that…well, this year, I may end up with a concussion because of it.
See, my husband is the smartest, sweetest, most lovable guy around. I like him a lot.
And he likes goals.
If he can enumerate it on a list or break it down, step-by-step on a spreadsheet, he’s gonna do it. He keeps track of books read for the year, relationship goals, budgets. I once saw him make a spreadsheet of my top love languages and how he could best satisfy them.
He’s serious.
One of his goals this year was to take care of some projects around the house. Little things like fixing a window screen or replacing the fire alarm batteries. He wanted to give me a new overhead light in the kitchen. Since I haven’t had a working one for over a year, I was on board. Mostly.
Because while my husband is the smartest person I know, he also simultaneously being the least handy person I’ve ever met. So when I heard on Day Two of the new year that he planned on replacing that light, I got a little nervous.
The week before the big day, he ordered a new light from Amazon. But when it got here, he discovered it was not the right part. A setback, for sure. But he didn’t let this deter him though. Nope.
Next, he wants to Lowe’s—a store I understand a lot of men enjoy visiting—and he bought a new, better part. He got it home, opened it, got the part out and…nope, still not the right part.
A lesser man would have given up. A lesser man would have found a football game, a bag of chips and said, “The kitchen has enough light.” But not my man. This light was on his list, dang it all. Nope, he went back to Lowe’s again. And he returned triumphantly.
Now he had the correct part and it was just a matter of installing it. He began at 2:30 in the afternoon.
And he tried really hard.
He pulled out all the tools and drills. He turned off the power to the kitchen. He screwed and took apart and screwed again. He turned the power back on and…nothing.
He tried again. More screwing. More power tools. A fine sheen of sweat. The sun sets. He’s working by the light of two cell phones and his wife’s radiant smile. He perseveres.
But, alas, he has reached a standstill. It is man v. screws and the screws are winning.
He had to dig deep, find his inner handyman, and push ahead. Finally, finally, he has finished. SUCCESS! My kitchen is bathed in the soft glow of the LED light affixed to my ceiling.
It is a miracle. A testament to perseverance and hard work and his love for me. It’s a downright masterpiece, y’all.
And it only took four hours!
It also took brute strength, a hammer, Gorilla glue, duct tape, and maybe a little prayer on my part.
So a couple of weeks from now while I’m making spaghetti and that light fixture falls and bashes me in the head and gives me a concussion, I’ll still be proud of all his hard work today.
Even when I’m driving myself to the emergency room.
I am one blessed woman.
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