Everyone should have a Harold.

Potatoes. I’m thinking potatoes. Twice baked at that. Tomorrow, we will get to see Grandmother Jean from Nashville. She’s coming to visit and, I will make potatoes and cookies and hope that Mrs. Mother-in-Law fills in the rest. I will cook today since Mr. Husband is lost to me. He’s gone. We’ve had such close, wonderful, loving, laugh-till-you-pee-a-little, fun times lately, that this break is well earned. Yesterday, Mr. Husband stayed home from work. He told me he felt sick a little when we woke up for work. I tried to make him Thera-Flu twice. I scolded him when I left for work at 7:00 am and noticed he was walking around in bare feet. Put some socks on, if you’re sick! Take care of yourself, so I don’t worry!

Later in the day, when I spoke with Mr. Husband around lunch time—a Mr. Husband who did not seem sick at all and was probably still not wearing socks—asked me when I was coming home. He wasn’t asking me because he was lonely and sick. He sounded like an excited little kid. Wait a minute! What was that in his voice? I heard it—the intonation was just enough not-right to make me suspicious. Mr. Husband had to admit that maybe he wasn’t sick and was actually awaiting a delivery. Uh, oh. He mentions Mr. Twin Brother. My Mr. Twin Brother who is lately prone to extravagant gifts. I know what it is. I know that when I go home I’ll see a new TV. I know it immediately.

I have to wait. By the time I leave work, even my boss knows what’s waiting for me. She hears of my excitement and emails Mr. Husband so she can play the I-know-something-you-don’t-know-game that is always an office favorite. I arrive home to find, sure enough, a new 42” LCD TV. Mr. Husband has become a five-year-old kid again, sliding around the house with the stench of happiness reeking from his every pore.
And I am amazed. Harold, Mr. Twin Brother, is now completely forgiven for that time I ran into him in Richfield, Ohio at a Dead show and he wouldn’t give me a measly five bucks for a falafel. Ok, wipe the slate clean. This is better than a falafel.

We are both kids again. We never would have bought a new TV for ourselves. We put our money into our wonderful house and we didn’t care about the TV. But, crazy thing, it makes a huge difference. We are both ravenous about Fable2 on Xbox. We notice, with the upgrade in TV, we can see the minute color changes in our dog’s fur. Fable2 is now more than ever. Wow. There is a difference. We didn’t know. We’d been ignoring it all the time. But we were easily happy in our obnoxiously out-dated TV world. The architects at work laughed at us in our ignorant low-tech TV existence. We shrugged.

So Christmas comes early to our world. We have already hung the outdoor lights and put up the tree (with Mr. Twin Brother via Xbox from Fort Hood). The cats are both snuggly by the fire and glad that we stay home so often during the holiday season. We are in house-mode still until the end of the year, trying to catch up from over-extending ourselves with a new mortgage and an apartment that is still ours until the end of the year. The season is upon us. I have this feeling, when I’m walking around and the thoughts are not pounding on my mind like buckshot, all of the sudden—I realize I am truly happy. I’ve never had that before. This. We are both very fortunate. We have a lot to be thankful for—we have each other and so much more. And now add to that a new TV that we didn’t expect or anticipate. But Mr. Twin Brother apparently couldn’t let us live like that.

While Mr. Husband and Mr. Twin Brother go on a quest, I will make potatoes for tomorrow. The entire Stewart family is going to church tomorrow morning for the Christmas carol service. Grandmother Jean is the star of the family show. Mr. Husband will take a break from dating the new TV, and he’ll hold my hand for a few hours before he comes home to caress the Xbox controller. I take what I can get.

Focus on my potatoes.