I'm married to a twelve year old man!

Yes, I am married to a twelve year old man. I am constantly amazed at the things he finds amusing and jokes he makes. Absolutely he is a very intelligent person... One who is trapped in this shell of an adolescent. But isn't this what drew me to him? His ability to make me laugh and his accomplishment of keeping me in that young frame of mind as well... all the while staying completely responsible and reliable? So yes, absolutely, this is what drew me to him. But there are those moments here and there that really make me wonder about him, and wonder about ME for marrying him. My for instance and the inspiring of this post would be his latest antic, at my expense of course, was while he was putting away the Christmas decorations and tree.

Our attic, I must first address, is ridiculous and poor planning at it's finest. It is beyond small and the space to get into it very narrow. There is just a ceiling panel there. There is no pull down with stairs, which seems like the only logical way to build one, am I right? At any rate, the most that will ever fit up there is our Christmas and Halloween decoration boxes so thankfully we don't mess with it too often. I, beating my own record, had managed to get all Christmas decor down and packed away before February. And Critter, in yet another world record, was putting the boxes away before April! He decided to put it all away while I had the kids downstairs eating lunch so that they would not get in the way, trying to climb the ladder and boxes etc. As I am tending to the kids, I hear an insanely loud crash. Now, one small child running across the upstairs playroom will always resemble a herd of racing elephants and this is something I almost have begun to simply tune out. But this sound caught my attention for sure. So I yell. "Are you OK?", "What was that?"... nothing. Knowing the lack of sound travel in my silly boxhouse I call again. "Are you ok?" I still get no response. "Criiiiitter"...... I hear nothing from the downstairs monitor, which is right outside where he is working. I race upstairs. I fly through the gate. There I see only my husbands legs and arms with a very large and uber heavy box on top of his head and body. He isn't moving. I guess what happens next can only be seen as exceptionally sad. Am I the loving wife who in an emergency adrenaline rush of strength removes the box from her trapped and unconscious husband? Of course not. Years of training with this man have taught me better. Instead I call out "oh you SUCK" and turn around back through the gate. As I'm walking back down the stairs, I hear the quiet giggle of my 12 year old husband, laughing.

Unfortunately for me, I am not feeling sorry for myself for marrying this man. I am merely wondering why I bothered to run up the stairs in the first place! I just really should have known better and that is sad.