Sometimes the language of thanks doesn’t come so easily to the tongue.
Like at 11:30 pm, when I was in the middle of making a cake, and no one should be making a cake at that hour, but I was because of ridiculous procrastination. With cake batter all over my apron and hands, I went into the living room and saw a big, long streak of light gray paint over creamy blush. Only this was not art. This was my dear husband trying to help me by covering a long black scratch etched into the wall by a chair. Only he hadn’t noticed that he grabbed the bucket of gray paint for my daughter’s room instead of the “Vanilla Flower” living room bucket. [Read more…]