My husband has to go out of town tomorrow. Just for the day. He’s helping a friend whose husband just had a serious accident and she needs an MRI. My husband does things like this on a fairly regular basis. And a part of me, while in my Boone idiocy, wanted to think he was being. Well. Sketchy.
But I’ve met the people he helps. And been the recipient. His dad was hard on him. Threw furniture at his head, which is a story I heard about from his cousin who hangs with me. Had the bedroom door literally knocked down — a story I heard from a family friend (I listen, people, I really do. I forget very little)
After my son got back from the store with the taco makings, I insisted my son let my husband be involved in the chopping or whatever. And my husband was game at being ordered around by the kid about what he, as head chef, wanted me and my husband to do.
The meal was awesome, btw. If you’ve never eaten a Mark Miller recipe, you should.
We improvised on the ingredients we didn’t have, laughed over the fact that I almost ruined the poblano roasting.
My husband’s cousin, who left his wallet at our house last night came by to get it. And my son asked to be notified when said cousin showed up so he could come down from his bedroom and joke with us. Tinker bell came up. Don’t ask. It was all funny. And awesome.
After the cousin left, my husband asked to watch Homeland. It was past his usual bedtime, which surprised me. I had a little trouble with parts of the finale because of recent events. I watched most of the show with my arms wrapped around his left leg. And flinched a lot. He doesn’t like it when I do that. Not the leg wrapping thing. His feet kinda stink.
I’m glad he’s going to help someone. I’ve always been proud of it even when I was less than loving to him.
My son spent real time, quality and not conflict time, with his dad today.
We’re making chorizo chicken tacos tomorrow. And my son has brisket a la Num Pang (a great sandwich shop in NYC) lined up.