My man is so clever. I can’t help but want to shout it from the rooftops. Tell everyone I know. Share it on social media.
We go camping every year. At Christmas. It’s our getaway as a family. It’s our escape from the traditional festive season. We set up our Taj Mahal and spend the days at the beach. Lazing about the tent. Eating. Reading. Being.
This year we are going for 15 nights. Longer than before. I pack most of the house to take with us. The first year this caused a fight. My man couldn’t believe we needed so much. ‘We’ll use every single thing,’ I said. I was huffy. Annoyed. Why would he question me?
We weren’t talking by the time we left Newtown. The car overheated at St Peters. We sat in the heat on the side of the Princes Highway for 2 hours. The NRMA didn’t have the pipe we needed. So my man went to the nearby Salvos store. He got an old walking crutch. Sawed it to size. Fit it in. I sucked on it to get the water pumping through the engine. It worked. We laughed. We were off.
We camped for eight nights that trip. We used every thing I packed.
My man discovered fishing. He caught fish for us every day. He caught me, hook, line and sinker.
“I think we need some big cushions to lounge on in the outdoor living area this trip,” I mentioned one evening. I’d also suggested we take some palettes to use as a bed base… that didn’t go down so well.
I thought my man might do a bit of research for the cushions. He does love to research. Or scour the op shops on Enmore Road and King Street. I came home yesterday and his sewing machine was out. He’d been to Reverse Garbage in Marrickville.
He got five gorgeous old hessian coffee bean bags, ranging in sizes. Five for $10. He had got cushion filling for $20. He made the first cushion. I fell in love. I don’t want to take it away, I want it in our lounge room.
The way he thinks blows my mind. He comes up with an idea, he makes it happen. He taps into creativity I didn’t know existed. I reap the rewards.
There’s something about that man. He’s got me good.