Josh and I alternate putting the kids to bed, mostly based on what story the kids are most interested in hearing that night. Josh is content with reading the Magic Treehouse adventures to the kids, long enough for both he and Danny to fall asleep and then the girls just fall asleep because Daddy's sonorous tones are matched only by his sweet light snoring. I read because I don't want to do the dished and Faith really wants to hear more of Little Women and Josh can't do the voices. Most of the time Josh joins us as I read so he can hear the story to and get in his sweet nap on the floor of the kids' room.
One evening he was left was the dishes and did not join us. I read until all but Faith was asleep and then remained reading ahead in the novel as she settled down to sleep. I stayed there longer until I heard a thumping from the floorboards. It was morse code - S.O.S. Either the rats had gotten really large and learned how to communicate via telegraphs or Josh was on another one of his half-though 'man-stinct' adventures.
Sure enough, as I went into the eating area and began to yell at the carpet I was assured that Josh and fit himself in the very small crawl space under the addition of the house to see if he could put more insulation under there. Josh has a fettish with insulation. He had crawled through the sometimes letterbox area in order to put one strip of insulation under the kids' room. He had not made it to the kids' room, it was impassible. All of those additions made to the original foundation were not made accessible to each other, which also thwarted his attempts to 'sure up' the kitchen floor.
I tried to put on my best supportive wife voice and kindly tell him "I told you so" without being impolite, he was, after all, mired in dirt and other unseemly things hauling insulation to the nether-lands of our under-house. I tried to make his return back to sanity a little easier by shining a light back to the exit area. And then I watched as the foundation of our house birthed my husband, breach.
It may have been alarming to hear an S.O.S signal from random parts of my home, but it is not. On another insulation escapade, Josh wedged him in the smallest attic space possible and then pounded S.O.S on the ceiling of our front room to let me know he was slowly suffocating and would I please shove more insulation toward him so he could crawl out. Disgruntled yet again, I bit my tounge as not to say "this is worthless, and I told you so" and pass the insulation while trying not to die myself. I have come to accept that the motivation behind so many of Josh's 'need to provide' moments are motivated by "man-stinct" not logic.
Logic says that the actual benefit of putting a roll of insulation in a small area will not actually drop our heating bill significantly enough to worry about the trouble of getting it there. Manstinct says that if I can prove that I can do it, I am a man that provides well for my family. I suppose if he does not have the ability to go and trap food or shoot enemies, I must give him this small expression of manhood in urban life.
On Sunday, as the Fort Wayne area began to panic because more than three inches of snow was falling and there would be sub-zero temperatures, I heard the all familiar S.O.S. This time it came from the roof. Josh was on the flat roof certain that if he did not shovel of the weighty snow than it would surely collapse in the coming days. I stuck my head out of the door to check if he was in actual danger when he requested that I go over to the neighbors and as for a snow shovel. Wha? You went onto the roof to shovel it off without the proper equipment? In a less polite mood, I hollered back that I was sorry but I did not support his current actions and he was welcome to get himself out of his own foolish position. I wrapped myself tighter in a quilt and scuffled off in my haughty decision, until I saw the neighbor man who undoubtedly heard us hollering to each other coming out of his house bundled up to offer a shovel to Josh on the roof. The shared moment of manstinct was touching as they collaborated on the need to insure their family's safety.
Yes, I am grateful that my husband has the instinct to provide and protect us all. Although I may disagree with him frequently as to the most efficacious way in which to carry out said protection and providence, I breathe deeply and remind myself to be grateful. Josh is a good man doing his best for us all, even when it gets him into tight spots.
