Last night, after I tucked in #3, he said I was his best friend in the whole, wide world, then offered me one of his two bears to keep me safe while I was "sleeping all alone in that big bed."
This morning, by the time I'd made it through another epic poopie diaper, burnt eggs and Nephi's shipbuilding project, I was ready to disown all of them and call up my wife to tell her that the catch 22 of her situation (or is it?) is that the next time she leaves town for this long in order to further her Need-My-Own-Income-Just-In-Case efforts will be the precise occasion on which she will start to need her Just-In-Case fund.
It was the right decision not to call her in the heat of the moment. My volatility about this marriage is frustrating and perplexing. Just a couple of weeks ago, I spontaneously bought her a stunning diamond and aquamarine O.C. Tanner ring at a charity auction, because she'd gasped, "Wow, look at that! It's amazing!" as we perused the goods up for bid -- and she's not a sparkle girl. I've put more than $2,000 into her van while she's been on this trip, wanting to giver her a real surprise when she gets back. So much impels me to please her, and feel gratified at her sense of being adored. And so much suggests to me that our demise is inevitable, so why drag it out?
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