Yesterday I woke up HAPPY. No longer SLEEPY, I got up and walked into our cozy little kitchen-living-office space to start breakfast. Renaissance Man headed outside to begin his long list of chores. While taking my allergy meds (so I wouldn’t be SNEEZY!), IT scurried across my floor and out of sight.
A mouse. In my little, tiny house.
Yes, I know it’s cold outside, but there is NOT room for both of us—and I’m not too BASHFUL to say that loud and often.
As I stood reeling from what I’d just seen, Renaissance Man opened the door and said,
After we eat some breakfast, I’m going to need your help. Sorry. The ground wasn’t frozen as hard as I thought, and I need you to drive the tractor and help me pull my truck out of the mud.
On the outside I was agreeable, but on the inside . . . GRUMPY was working his magic.
We ate breakfast in silence then parted company. I dressed in my warm bib overalls and Muck boots and grumbled my way down to the barn. After all, I had a long to-do list of my own, and getting a truck unstuck wasn’t on it.
But the only reason Renaissance Man was at home working on a long list of pre-Winter-storm prep and not at the office was because DOC scheduled him for gall bladder surgery on Friday—that’s today, and it’s his birthday. Getting his truck stuck first thing in the morning wasn’t on his to-do list either.
This Adventure we’re on is a joint one,
so I adjusted my attitude (took long enough, huh?) and climbed up in the tractor. There was work to do.
Finally, we were getting close . . .
A few minor adjustments and the chore was behind us. I drove the tractor back to the barn while Renaissance Man, following in the truck, stopped to offer me a ride back to the house.
I felt DOPEY standing there with my bed hair, Oompa Loompa-like attire, and clompy (but oh, so warm!) boots.
And then my sweet husband (who sometimes is oblivious but other times says just the right thing), said,
You’re more than I bargained on when we married.
There I was looking (and feeling) really ugly—and thinking of my juvenile response to a mouse and a stuck truck—and thinking that if there were an eighth dwarf, I’d name him EMBARASSED.
Not quite sure how to respond (or what he was implying!), I shrugged and laughed awkwardly. And then he said,
I could not be more proud of you than I am right now. I know you were out of your comfort zone.
Dwarf #9: HUMBLED
So I sit here at the hospital, Renaissance Man—sans gall bladder—safely in recovery. All good.
Outside it’s snowing. City roads are treated, so we’ll start our trek home soon.
We live in the country.
That last road and our steep, dirt (sometimes mud!) driveway will be tricky. Thankfully we have a backup plan. (Most of our friends are actually civilized!)
In the meantime, I’m about to venture back out of my comfort zone.
Wish me luck!
Have a great weekend, friends. Stay warm and safe!