the short version
You’ll never catch me complaining about being married to a computer whiz. I thrive when I can dump my issues in his lap and expect him to fix them with five minute in front of my screen. He’s also fluent in my particular technology-related dialect which typically goes something like this: “Hey, my computer is doing this thing. I don’t know what and I can’t really describe it, but it’s definitely doing a THING.”
That said, there are painful bits to having a computer doctor in the house. Like being constantly reminded that mine only has a few months left to live. And every time it would do a new THING, he’d sort of sigh and shake his head and be all “I hope you have your stuff backed up because this computer is going to crash any day now.” Thank you for that diagnosis because, you know, I wanted to spend the next hour editing pictures with the knowledge that it could all be wiped away at any second! LIFE ON THE EDGE, BABY.
Truth is, Caleb didn’t build this computer with the intent that I’d be filling my hard drive with enormous programs and asking them to process tons of files every day. Which is pretty much exactly what I did while he was deployed. And by the time he got back I needed a new hard drive, like right away. That was nine months ago and said hard drive has been sitting in a box since then. On Monday I finally gave my blessing and had my computer wiped. Jackson did his homework on the kitchen island because the dining room table was covered in computer guts.
The next three days I accomplished absolutely nothing except the installation of Photoshop (insert chorus of Hallelujahs). I’m slightly amazed how much better the computer is behaving, so I guess it was worth the half week of installing two million tons of software, the three days I almost tossed the whole computer out the back door, and the one time I came this close to swearing off technology forever. Amen.
If you saw a lady stomping on her brakes and making a wide U-turn in the middle of the road to rescue a turtle as it puttered across the double yellow lines… yeah, it wasn’t me. We were on our way to the Armory so I called Caleb and asked him to find me a cardboard box STAT. Once I explained the situation he said “Okay, I get that you had to save the turtle from certain pulverization. What I don’t get is why you now have it in the trunk of the RAV.”
It seemed like a good idea, until we were half way home and the smell in the car became a really rank reminder why I don’t do turtle. We turned him out in the back woods that night. Bye stinky turtle!
I thought he’d have those long silky curls forever, but we discussed and agreed it was time to cut Jon’s hair. Caleb came along for moral support. I don’t know why I’m so protective of the boys’ hair because in general I think it’s pretty irrational to have such strong feelings for something that grows back so quickly. But whatever. I didn’t cry, but as we were walking out the door I was handed a card with a lock of his hair taped to it and I almost hugged that girl.
I had a meeting on Auburn’s campus one night and while hurriedly crossing the street I pulled out my camera and snapped this one picture. I love it.