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Because I woke up on Saturday morning to this list of things we’re out of:

Captain OCD spends seven days a week working physically harder on just one of those days than I will in my entire life. With sports, he’s ultra competitive and goes for blood, but doesn’t really care if he wins or loses (I’ve finally figured out the reason I don’t care for games of any kind is because I was born with zero competitive spirit). The other day I mentioned, again, that apparent dichotomy of personality types and he said that he doesn’t care if he wins or loses to someone else because he competes with himself, not other people. That explains a lot. When he’s working, he’s constantly competing with himself to get that project done faster and better than he’s done it before. That’s how he works, and he needs to work hard both for physical and mental reasons. If he has to sit inside at a desk for too long, he gets nervous and shaky.

When he’s not pushing his body to accomplish physical tasks that people half his age refuse to even try because it looks too hard, he loves to cook. Which works out well for a lazy spouse who likes to cook for a reason, but hates cooking just because we have to eat on a semi-regular schedule. On Saturday morning I awoke to the wonderful smell of a freshly baked something or other that obviously included brown sugar, cinnamon, and fruit. Alas, he’d made rhubarb crisp and I’m not a fan of rhubarb. But C2 was home and it made her happy.

I love how he’ll move literally tons of enormous rocks by hand, rock-by-rock, to build the wall he designed (kicking and whining because to draw a plan requires hours inside, sitting at a drawing board) because he can’t get a machine into the space. I love how he’ll use brute strength to muscle the materials he specifies into adherence to his artistic vision to create features that make people happy every time they look at them. I love how, on another job, he’ll let someone much younger than he is use the excavator to set the rock because each rock “speaks to me” and he won’t know which face to show until he sees it in context with the other rocks, and the next morning he’ll harvest some of his rhubarb (that’s not a euphemism) to make a lovely little crisp and leave the kitchen cleaner than it was before he started. I also find it amusing that he hates gadgets, and yet decided that the pastry blender we have is useless crap. And that he calls oatmeal Quaker Oats, especially since the only reason I buy oatmeal is for baking and I haven’t bought Quaker Oats brand in years.