Our garage has been… in a state of disarray for years. Basically ever since I had my candle shop in the garage, we haven’t used it for a car. I claimed 1/3 of the area, the rest was available for bikes, seasonal decorations, camping gear, pantry, or whatever else we wanted to shove in the garage and forget about. Our van didn’t fit in there anyway, and our car was not worth pulling in a garage only to leak oil all over the floor.
In comes the new Toyota (the oil-leaker has since been retired), a little snow and the absence of a candle being made in the past couple years.
In comes a husband who listened to my pleas to knock off a couple items on the Honey-do list.
I definitely don’t give him enough credit; guilty as charged, because he surprised me one day.
Pulling in to the driveway, as I do most every day after work, entering the garage, I can see the floor. He had boxed up my shop stragglers, threw out the garbage that was taking up space, and neatly stacked the rest against the wall. Not quite enough to get the car in, but enough to motivate me to finish the job (just… whatever, you can’t have perfection all the time).
It took a bit more compacting, a bit more rearranging, a couple of choice words mixed with sweat and determination, and finally. Finally, we are able to put a car out of the snow, into the garage.
The sight of it made his father teary-eyed. Yeah, that was written correctly. Made. His. Father. Cry.
Frankie. The garage… it’s clean?! (choking up) Your grandpa would be SO proud, Frankie. So proud. He loved a neat, clean garage.
Ten years ago I probably would have rolled my eyes and upchucked a bit. Today, it warms my heart in a funny, gotta love ’em sort of way. Happy to have given that gift to him, as it was also a gift to me.