Not Just A Dirty Window

I have the patience of an ant. Wait, no even ants have more patience then I do. Let me just throw this out here right now: My hubby is a fantastic dude! He's my best friend and I could not ask for a better daddy to my girls. I really like being around him. I like him here. He's handy. He's the fun parent. That being said, I'm completely frustrated, irritable, worn out and basically lonely for my man (and someone to mow the lawn). And that's not even because it's a week before my period! Okay, it totally is, but I'm talking about something else here.

Work is hec-TIC right now for him, so we haven't seen a lot of him. We are earning a ton of frequent flyer miles though (Helloooooo Australia!). He is good with taking care of us, putting the roof over our heads and you know, feeding us. Food is very important. And you'd think I'd be used to this. We just got out of the military a year ago, so him being away is nothing new. Our last assignment was Washington D.C.! The traffic alone should have done us in! But life on the outside is a whole other animal.

So in my lack of patience (and even sometimes understanding) of my hubby being everywhere, but here lately, I was reminded of my Uncle Bob. I'm not particularly close with Bob, but he's family and I love him just the same. You see Bob is a patient man. Very patient. He wanted to build a house. So he spent his entire adult life planning for it. He bought some land and every chance he got (between being a Reverend, a husband and a father of a handful of children), he would go out walking along creek and river beds and collect river stones. He'd lug them back to his little pick up truck, fill it up and pile these stones up on this piece of land he owned. He did this for years. Years. Finally the day came to build this house. You must know he's not a carpenter (his words). He'd never done anything like this. But he did every part of it by hand, his hands. It took him ten years to build it. Ten years. Every material, every part has a history, a story. He got the doors from a neighbor whose barn burned down. He got the windows at a dump. They're beautiful. He actually built the house around the doors and windows. He even found most of his materials at the dump. For a few years (years) he didn't even have plumbing. That's right, no toilets! And they lived in it without plumbing. Very Little House on the Prairie. It's perfectly imperfect. It's a truly special place, built out of guts and determination.

I don't have that in me. I would die right now if I didn't have a toilet. I can't even hardly "go" when we're on vacation! And I could never sift through garbage in search of building supplies. I'd find a dirty window and it would just be a dirty window. When we added a deck a few years back, we had to hire people to show us what we wanted. I just don't have the vision. (As I'm typing this, I'm realizing my personality is missing quite a few things)

So the next time I feel like complaining, when on the verge of another Momma Meltdown, I'm gonna remember Bob. Remember that patience. I'm going to hang the pic of his house on my fridge. I'm gonna remember...no toilet...ten years! And look at the beauty that came out of it all.