Come What May...: Kudos to Hubby

Friday, May 8, 2009

Kudos to Hubby

I awoke this morning to a wonderful surprise. Rinar cleaned all the dishes and the floor, with the smashed down green beans and sticky cereal and everything. Then there was this message left on the counter, all spelled out in Junior Mints and chewing gum: Happy Mother's Day Early. He even bought me some flowers.

Go ahead and say it...

AAAHHHHHHH!!!!!

Do you think he read my blog from yesterday?

4 comments:

Meridy said...: How SWEET. As Jane Austen wrote: "Those who don't complain, are never pitied." (or close to that.) :); May 8, 2009 at 9:56 PM
Brook and Chad said...: I love it!! What a sweet, romantic thing to do. Isn't romance in the real world a universe apart from the dreamy one?; May 9, 2009 at 12:32 PM
Kelly said...: Well actually, no. I didn't read your blog from the day before until today, 2 days later. And thank you for not making a stink about basketball. The funny part is that I came home AFTER basketball, saw you asleep and said "looks like she had a hard day" (after looking at the kitchen and seeing the dried green beans etc too) then went straight to work. I stayed up for a few hours and knocked it out, because you deserved it and so much more.

Glad to see that it cheered you up.

I love you - from your BEST friend,

Rinar; May 10, 2009 at 12:56 AM
Justin M. Bowen said...: Yesterday's post was the best thing I've ever read...and you know how much I read...

really, other people have those days? I had no idea! I am still smiling thinking about it. Your honesty. Not the day.

You are awesome!; May 10, 2009 at 9:14 PM

Post a Comment

Psalm of Life

TELL me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream ! —
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real ! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal ;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way ;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle !
Be a hero in the strife !
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant !
Let the dead Past bury its dead !
Act,— act in the living Present !
Heart within, and God o'erhead !
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time ;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate ;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
-Henry Wordsworth Longfellow