Don't Start Anything You Don't Intend to Continue

When Mike & I were engaged, his family had a wedding shower for me, and they did one of the obligatory "everyone give Deborah some advice for her marriage" deals. I'm sure the right thing to do would behave been to remember, write down, and creatively scrapbook, all of the advice, but I am terrible at all 3 of those things. So I remember nothing.

Except one.

Mike's Grandmother (who just passed away last year) told about cooking her husband a really nice egg and sausage breakfast on the first morning they were married. Her husband greatly appreciated the gesture, and she was very pleased with herself. Until the next morning when he was wondering where breakfast was. And the morning after that. And the morning after that. You get the picture. Grandpa Gardner just assumed that cooking an amazing breakfast for him every morning was what she planned to do all along. So her advice was:

"Don't start anything you don't intend to continue doing for the rest of the marriage."

Believe me, I took the advice to heart. For a girl who kept her breakfast (granola bars) in her car during college years so she could eat on the way to a class that she was undoubtedly late for, the thought of cooking a full-course breakfast made me break out in hives.

So I avoided cooking breakfast.

And ironing.

Unforunately, Iast year I made a huge mistake. Mike rebuilt our lower kitchen cabinets so we could put a dishwasher in. After 2 weeks without a kitchen sink, I went berserk. Once everything was all put in, and the sink was running, I couldn't wait a few more hours for Mike to get home from work, finish the plumbing and install the disposal. I NEEDED that kitchen sink. So I did it myself. And, If I do say so myself, I did a dang good job. Well, except for the fact that a few weeks later, the dispoal fell off and flooded the kitchen because I didn't have it properly secured. BUT, the second time I put it in, I did a dang good job.

So now, guess who the family plumber is???

The old disposal died last month, so the job naturally fell to me, and I pretty much handled it like a pro last weekend. Do I look good under the sink, or what?

I would still rather "plumb" than iron . . . .