My husband and I have a long-standing joke. It’s “ooh and ahh.”
It started many years ago, when he built a shelving unit in our first garage. It was a big piece, 2x4s for the ends, big sheets of plywood for the shelves – stacked three or four high.
When he finished building them, he asked me to come look, and to “ooh and ahh.” For the next week or so, every time we were in the garage, or backing the car out into the driveway, I’d say “Ooh! Ahh!” Like the crowd response to fireworks.
The game stuck, and whenever he would build shelves (I figure he’s built this design five or six times), I’d “ooh and ahh” for a week or so. He’d plant a garden, and I’d “ooh and ahh” when I was in the yard. He’d paint a room, and I’d “ooh and ahh” every time I came into the space. He’d install self-made organizers in a closet, and I’d “ooh and ahh” when I’d organize my craft supplies onto the shelves.
This past Saturday, he built shelves in the spare room closet. “Ooh. Ahh.”
On Sunday, he built the garage shelves again. “Ooh. Ahh.” He organized the stuff from the garage walls onto the shelves. “Ooh. Ahh.”
Yesterday, I unpacked all the books and photo albums we’ve had in boxes for the past couple of years. I organized them on the bedroom closet shelves.
When hubby got home in the evening, I asked him to come check out my handiwork.
His response? “Ooh. Ahh.”