B Is For Husband

Well, my husband anyway, whose name is Bruce. I had no less than three people say to me “B? You should be kind to Bruce!” Not being one to disobey what appears to be a command, I complied.

Sunday I took the kids to their soccer and let Bruce stay home for the afternoon. As an added bonus, the game was in a town called Barrington. So is seemed that it was meant to be.

I packed his lunch every day this week, and did a significant chunk of his ironing (there was a time when these tasks would have been considered within my wifely job description, but that was then and this now).

On Wednesday I put the garbage and recycling out even though it is usually part of his routine. We have a fairly long driveway so this makes it that much more kind.

By Thursday, it did not seem that he noticed anything different. He said thank you for each time but didn't show any outward awareness of my amped up efforts to be kind. I was beginning to think  that I might have to ponder that age old question, similar to whether a tree falling in the forest makes a sound if no one is around to hear it, were my acts truly kind if my husband didn't notice the uptick in kindness around the household?

My worries were unfounded because on Friday he said to me “I don't know what is going on around here but it's great!” The gig was up.  I confessed that Bruce was the B of the blog. Last I heard he was thinking of changing his name to Charles.