We dropped the kiddies off at school this morning, and Si to daycare. Hubby and I, together, finally.

We have been on this island 10 weeks, and today is the first real day, wide open ahead of us, that we have had together.

In the beginning it was spending hours adjusting dude to daycare. Then unpacking, battling flu’s and being off island for work. We haven’t had one of those days where you can just stop and explore, and do . . .  well, do nothing.

Hubby was in a “serious mood” since he got back home (just as an aside here, I pretty much despise serious moods! They totally kill my buzz)

I know that breathing fresh air usually helps to kick him into the happy zone, so off to the trails we go. 830am hiking in the winter is not for the feint of heart, but cutting across the farmers fields and scoping out the creative housing in Burgoyne Bay was amusing, and well worth the early start!

We toodled our way about the island, snooping at for sale spots and picking up a few odds and ends. Home in the afternoon with a still miserable husband. . . awesome.

See, much like Bella to Edward,  I am my hubby’s particular brand of heroin.  I give him the shot of optimism and happy thinking that he can’t get anywhere else.  If you have spent more than 5 minutes with me (on a good day) you may know that once you get me going it is like I inject a shot of Kool-Aid into your veins . . . and not the “kid friendly” kind either.

I fed him.

And then I cornered him.
I dominated the shit out of his negativity. I removed his excuses, I stomped on his fears.  I gave him approval to take a few weeks off of thinking, and worrying and planning (because yes, we do worry!)

I brought it . . .  in a big way.  I slathered that poor bastard in such a think layer of happy thoughts and confidence . . .  and I called him a dick-wad (and douchebag) which always gets him smiling.

See.  I am a “believer”   Him, well, he is trying.  He worries if he doesn’t earn an income everyday (and has a somewhat skewed vision of what is enough . . . my opinion only) that life will end and we will all starve.

I, on the other hand,  believe that we will do it. We will make a life here . . . it is just about “hanging our shingle” and being our hardworking selves.

I may be wrong. But . . . nothing, absolutely nothing, will stop me from trying.

So, my lovely Brit will give it a few weeks and stop and smell the roses. Once we are back from holiday, we will build.  And we will be successful.

And the funny thing is . . . while he stews and worries about the future, he doesn’t even know that I am already working on it, ready and waiting for him to decide exactly what he wants.

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