Sometimes I'm accidentally a liar

Last February when I was growing a monster and was tired and not the best wife ever I bought a miniature tin mailbox with the idea that I would spend the month of February putting little things in it each day for Lesco. He was pretty much the best husband ever while I was pregnant. I don't think I touched a dirty dish the whole time. Somehow they were always just clean and in the cupboard. MAGIC!

I totally sucked and never put a single thing in there. Even after I told him my plan and showed him where to check. Even after I saw him checking. Even after I saw him cry.

Ok, maybe not the last one, but still. I felt bad. Not totally, totally bad because I was growing a human child and he was growing nothing but some creeping thyme in the front yard and that has waayyyy less parts. (and that thyme is never going to get rich and take us on an Alaskan cruise.)

I blamed the monster. I packed away the mailbox.

Apparently lesco was not down. He pulled it out and stuck in on top of the fridge recently. Now he makes a point to come in while I'm in the kitchen.

Just checking to see if someone loves me.I wonder if there is anything for me in this little mailbox.
Guess not today.
Guess not ever.
tears.

Okay, again, not the last one, but I'm sure tears were imminent. I now try to put things in the mailbox. Like a Halloween card and not like three kernels of caramel corn. Like a coupon for a foot rub and not like an action figure that Liza chewed up.Like argyle socks. Stuff like that.