This might be the first Monday of 2014. In fact, I am pretty sure it is, but I am too lazy to go open my iCal and check, so you'll have to take my word for it. On the other hand, if I'm wrong (I'm not), then you can just feel smug about knowing what day and week it is, like some kind of savant.
But since this is the first week of a new year, and a Monday to boot, I decided that my life needed some organizing. What I need, I thought to myself, over dinner, while the Man of God talked about something else, is a home office. What I need is a white office with bookshelves and a vase of flowers and a teapot and some inspiring art. I need a fluffy rug and a door that I can close on the children, for whom I prayed. I need an office in the basement, the unfinished basement. We'll just build some frame walls and then some sheetrock and we'll close it all in and then we'll buy a white desk and a fluffy rug and then I will be productive.
Once I had the room built and furnished, I explained it all to Richy, who was still talking about something else. It was a solid idea, what with the unused basement corner and drywall. Totally logical. His initial response was disbelief, with the same face he gives me sometimes when I tell him I don't know which way is north. I hope you don't all hate him when I tell you he just flatly dismissed it.
Evidently it's a lot of work to build a room, and also he had some concerns about me being in the basement and not knowing where my children are. I tell you what, sometimes I'm in the same room as my children and I don't know where they are. There's a lot of them, they go everywhere. I explained it again, because it clearly was made of nothing but win. He explained again that I was thinking like a child hopped up on red dye #2. (He didn't say it that cool, I'm the writer.)
The great thing about date nights is unimpeded conversation. At home, any conversation is interrupted at least every 30 seconds by a) sibling violence or b) conversational input from small people or c) just about anything at all because if you think I would be surprised by someone telling me Tristan was on top of the house, then you don't know my life. I would be mad, and scared, but maybe not super surprised.
I explained in more detail, how much I need some space to work. I even cried a little. Did that slow him down? Heck no. He cried too. Everybody's got dreams and evidently, any old body can cry about creative space. He offered half his office. He offered all of his office, and then he got really sad about not having an office, even though I said I didn't want it. We agreed to pause the conversation, and then we talked about it some more. It was one of those Can This Marriage Be Saved moments, except only not a big deal at all.
Then I came home and remembered there is a desk downstairs and it fit in our room and he agreed so problem solved. I think the MOG is just super thankful we got to work on our relationship for a couple hours, anyway.