“I love you so f’n much” was all my patient Boston accented husband could say to me this afternoon. Generally with a head shake, and I kind of deserved it.

We are going on a vacation soon, outside of the country, for our babymoon…and thanks to my pregnancy brain and moving during my first trimester…I completely misplaced my passport.  I started to worry about it a couple of weeks ago, and remember it being in a bag of some sort, along with other important information.  I had no idea where that bag was. 
Blake came home from work, smelling of munchkins, and noticed I was in absolute distress in my closet.   I could swear that the bag full of important items, including the one document I couldn’t travel without, was somewhere in this little room. To a normal person, searching for an item in their closet may not be a daunting task. For me – it’s like getting a root canal. I hate it!  My closet hides what used to be my deep dark secret, that I am a complete and utter mess when it comes to organizing clothing and personal items. Friends who have known me for years joke about my messy closet, and have even applauded the fact that you can often see some of the floor. Trust me, this is a huge improvement. Most people are messy when they are teenagers, and I am sad to say that I have never outgrown it.
Together we went through the entire closet, through all of the bins in storage in the basement, and finally through the trunk of my car. Did I say I had one secret mess? Well, it’s actually two. My closet, and my car.  Inside my car was a wetsuit (please note: it’s November), curlers, countless pairs of shoes (because sometimes I need to change my footwear), money, enough water bottles with which to take a bath, countless packets of orbit bubblemint gum (I hate bad breath!), and at very bottom was a magical bag filled with important information – including my passport.
Blake kept grumbling “I f’n love you, you’re so lucky I f’n love you,” but he said it with a smile. My foul mouthed husband couldn’t be any more different than me. A mouth like a sailor, a thick accent that causes some people to think he’s from a different country, and his closet is spotless. I am lucky that I have him, and that he quickly forgave me – after I promised to spend an hour each day cleaning my closet this week.