Yesterday my husband woke up at 4:30 am to go to the boat house to work on rudders before his team showed up for practice.
They rowed hard and worked on last minute techniques for their big race this weekend.
He came home just as I was waking up. I took Sadie out on a walk and came home to find an egg sandwich with tapatio hot sauce and tons of cut up strawberries arranged in the shape of a hugging stick figure for my breakfast.
We got ready and biked to work together, enjoying our "commute" to chat.
He worked all day for the honors department, helping students apply for scholarships and coordinating scattered professors.
Back to the boat house for evening practice. I'd been thinking of how busy he's been recently and made a big dinner, jacket potatoes, broccoli, etc.
He gets home, but is dying to get a run in before he eats dinner. Of course, right before he heads out, a friend of mine from the bike shop calls. He's just moved here from Texas with his family and the moving truck arrived. They really need help. Of course, my husband is eager to help and decides to run there instead. We spend two hours hauling boxes and beds.
Finally home, we eat our now cold dinner. Immediately after, he has to go finish his Re-Nest post for today.
We get ready for bed and chat for few minutes before he is conked out. To repeat it all today.
Except this morning he made french toast.
I am so incredibly lucky.