He’s my strapping, handyman, marathon-running, American Pickers-watching, Pretzel M&M-loving hubby.
The guy who surprises his 13-month pregnant wife with a designer diaper bag one day and then is elbow deep in dirty water replacing the inner workings of our continuously running toilet the next.
He is the master of our puppy dog’s domain.
And he vacuums! Men look particularly darling vacuuming brand new rose-colored carpet. Ladies, take note.
He’s my youngest-of-four-children, goofy, ornery, attention-grabbing hubby. A Type-A lawn-mowing perfectionist, the pickiest book reader I’ve ever met, and a spot-on fried egg flipper.
Hey, Hubz, I think I kinda like ya.
P.S. Today is the 30th. Hubz’ birthday was the 27th. I thought I hit Publish last week when I really hit Save Draft. So it didn’t publish. It just saved. Because that’s what happens when you hit Save instead of Publish. Harumph.
Pregnancy brain strikes again. It’s all Babygirl‘s fault.
Happy birthday three days ago, Hubz!