Hi.

Remember me? This is my blog. I know. I know. But seriously? The deadline I'm on. Oh my God. You would not believe the work. I haven't taken a day off in so long I can't remember when I took a day off. It was March or maybe February, and I wish that was a joke. I've been working until one and two in the morning. I'm dying over here.

Which means my dear, sweet, darling husband has taken over, well, everything. Everything that doesn't involve writing this book, he's doing. Laundry, grocery shopping, cooking. And I'm going to admit here that I was a little afraid at first.

He went off into the sunset with the grocery list I had made, the world's most ridiculously detailed grocery list that included, in some cases, packaging descriptions. I was utterly convinced without it he'd come home with four chocolate bars and some paper towels, and they would be the wrong paper towels.

And can I just say right now that I'm really sorry?

It turns out my husband knows exactly what kind of jelly we eat, and I was proud of him. Proud. How sick is that? No, really. What I'm saying is that I'd been assuming this man I married had the observational powers of head lice.

If he'd like to slap me around a little, I'd understand.

My husband spends his weekends building electronic components to control humidity and temperature for his orchid cases FROM SCRATCH. There is soldering involved. Then he hooks that up to his computer and teaches himself a new scripting language so he can write a program to automatically control the whole thing and - for fun - he fashioned a little LED touchscreen interface.

And I got excited because he bought breakfast cereal like a big boy.

Wife of the year.

Someone slap me.