Emotional Rambo

Remember my annoying rug? i'm still working on it. Last night i decided to put my nose to the grindstone and crank it out. i had just checked on all the kids, they were sleeping and austin and fallen asleep in Quinton's bedroom. went back down stairs to finish BBC Persuasion and get this stinkin' rug on the floor and outta my hair. So Persuasion ends and i'm flippin' channels and i hear some noises. with mike gone, and uncle gunther on a date, i am missing that he-man bulk. you know, that decidedly masculine quality that makes scary noises mere explainable trifles, and the lack there-of turns the trifles into insurmountable hurdles. so i'm trying not to freak out, and i decide maybe a wayward moose is just trying to mate with my outside wall. austin's room has a good view of the source of the noise, so i go upstairs and peak between the blinds warily. nothing. no moose, or big hairy bad guys. i'm beginning to shrug it off when i hear the unmistakable sound of a door closing. i try to be cool and calm, but someone is coming up the stairs, slowly and then more rapidly and then that darn feminine hysteria takes over and i shout, "whose in my house!" ...........
......just as poor little austin rounds the corner of the stairs, hear's my crazed shouting, bursts into tears and runs to me certain that hairy bad guys are chasing him up the stairs. I feel two things. his heart beating so fast it could burst, and total relief that the insurmoutable hurdle, is merely an explainable trifle. austin had to pee, and i hadn't noticed because of that increasingly pain in the bum rug. and i scared my 7 year old nearly to death. high-five maggie.

All of this has got me thinking. my best friend and i had a mantra in high school. it is as follows: men are good for 2 things: manual labor, and kissing.
I've learned since then to add more to the list. (although the kissing, and manual labor thing were dead on) I've mentioned before how i never cry. it's one reason i love the olympics, because when i'm frustrated after months of not being able to expell all the stress and frustration of life into palpable watery manifestations, i can count on sports battles and national pride to get the water works going. seriously no matter what, i'm teary during the anthems.
but since my man has been in Iraq, crying is a daily thing. or maybe i should say tears are a daily thing. And i've figured out after 10 years that not only do i need and relish mikes big protective muscles, but he's also my personal, Emotional Rambo. His easy going manner carries me through all the puke, and the 9 year old with attitude, and the 7 year old who is as slow as cold tar, and the little girl who can make a mess like a professional hoarder, and a sweet little toddler with a concussion. He takes all of that weight and says something like, "well, we can either laugh or cry!" who can argue with that. he flattens emotional rollercoasters' with his proverbial giant clown foot.
I can't wait until my big, muscley, hairy, and clown footed friend gets back.