Bless his heart

This husband of mine... I love him so much. Why, just this weekend, he cleaned out my car, vacuumed it, washed it, did some laundry (DIAPER LAUNDRY at that!), played with Sam nonstop, took care of every bathtime and diaper change, put him to bed each night, didn't complain when I wore my Breathe Right strip half the morning, let me nap, got up in the morning with Sam while I slept in, and just let me REST. It was SO NICE. I am still feeling quite crappy, but definitely much better with all of that rest in me from the weekend.

However. There are other things about my husband that make me scratch my head and look at him funny. I realize that I am sort of, um, particular about certain things and the way they are done. I am not the wife that ever (EVER) sends her husband to the commissary with a grocery list to do the shopping for me. I write out my list, gather up my coupons, and methodically hit each aisle looking for other brands that might be on sale or possibly a better deal. But I just didn't have it in me this weekend to go there. And we needed things. Important things. Like milk. And bread. And bananas. And eggs. So Steve said, "Well you've already written out a list. I'll just take Sam and we'll do the shopping." Like, oh, it's that simple. He doesn't seem to think that taking a screaming toddler (oh yes, it was the witching hour) to the commissary on a Sunday evening was a scary idea. That whole sentence petrifies me. But he seemed to think it was no big deal. I thought it would be fun for him to experience that little slice of hell that I go through each week, so I let him go. BUT FIRST. I had to amend the list.
My list started out like this:

strawberries
bananas
sausage
hot dogs
applesauce
peanut butter
frozen veggies
bread
chicken
yogurt
milk
eggs


I realize that most women will look at this list and see it as complete. Nothing else needs to be added. I put on my "husband spectacles" and could already picture him at the store, buying the tiniest package of strawberries, "hot" sausage links, the most expensive applesauce, the wrong brand of peanut butter, not enough milk, etc.

So I amended it.

I thought my new amended list was VERY specific, to the point of being a little anal (what with the ounces and prices and all), but I thought, "Better to have too MUCH information instead of too little."
Well I could have definitely been a little more anal.

I received multiple phone calls, tried my best to direct him in the direction the items would be located in, and strained my brain to recall what certain packaging looked like. In the end, I gotta say, he did a good job.

But when I pulled out these two items from the bag, I had to give him a look and wonder if we've really been married for going on three years now.

First of all, a HALF LOAF of bread? It pains me that the commissary even sells that (because it costs just as much as a full loaf), but Steve swears that there were no full loaves available. I wasn't there, so I can't contest that.
But the peanut butter. COME ON MAN. You've known me for how long? Been married to me for how long? Watched me make how many peanut butter and banana sandwiches? CRUNCHY?!?! He claims to have never noticed that I only eat creamy peanut butter. I give him the "COME ON MAN" look and he falls back on the indisputable excuse of "They were out of the creamy kind." Mm-hmm. I bet.

Oh, and of course, Sam turned into a little saintly saint of an angel as soon as he was buckled into the car and was a fantastic shopping partner for Steve while they were out. I think the kid does things like that just to mess with my head.