A bathroom marriage miracle

FRIENDS, A SMALL MIRACLE OCCURRED AT OUR HOUSE THIS WEEKEND, AND I AM SO ECSTATIC THAT I HAD TO SHARE. (AND YES I AM WRITING IN ALL CAPS BECAUSE THIS IS THE LEVEL OF EXCITEMENT THAT IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW.)

Yes. This is a towel rack.

That is attached to the wall.

Let me tell you. It has been approximately 2 and a half years (2 AND A HALF YEARS!!!!!!!) since I’ve seen this sight. (Again the caps but honestly.)

It was Halloween of 2014 when the boys were hanging or hitting or body-slamming this bathroom accessory (who knows, who cares), and the freaking thing came off the wall and hasn’t been the same since.

I tried to shimmy it back into place. But the pole thing kept coming off (and making a fantastic sword which my kids used to bash each other on the heads). So, I finally just threw the pole thing away.

And I was left with a stupid broken metal nub, left as a taunting souvenir on our bathroom wall, staring me at the face every time I’d escape to the bathroom for a precious 30 seconds alone with my thoughts, and sneering at me, “Your house is falling apart. And you will never have nice things.”

Once I knew I couldn’t fix it myself, you better believe I nagged my husband.

To. No. End.

The thing was, it wasn’t that important to him.

“It’ll get fixed,” he’d say (all type-A personalities cringe).

But it didn’t get fixed. I tried to find a handyman, but couldn’t. I’d drop hints to my dad, grandpa and father-in-law while they were in town (“Doesn’t this look awful?” “How would you fix it?” “It should be simple, right?”), but no one took the bait.

And so, I got angrier and angrier.

Mostly at my husband.

In fact, I’d drag this dumb little nub into almost every fight I could. I’d be mad at my husband for working late or leaving household things undone, and without fail, I’d bring things full-circle with the broken towel rack. “See, you don’t care about me!” I’d yell, self-righteously. “If you did, you would’ve fixed that broken towel rack that bugs me so much!”

Well, my friends.

A bathroom marriage miracle has occurred.

I have no idea what made my husband wake up on Saturday this past weekend, after more than 700 days of ignoring the missing towel rack situation, and decide to take the boys to Home Depot to buy a new rack and then get out his power tools and fix it before naptime.

But I can tell you: I silently smiled ear-to-ear, all morning long.

I felt the most loved and cared for that I had in weeks. More than when he sent me 2 dozen red roses a few weeks ago, or when he brought me Starbucks on a bad day.

HE FIXED THE FREAKING TOWEL RACK.

I didn’t pick the style, the finish or the size, but I don’t care one bit. I love it so much.

And, let me tell you: there might just be hope for us yet.

Because if our marriage can survive 2 and a half years with a broken towel rack, I’m pretty sure we can take on anything.