Except that when I woke up at 8:45 and printed out my itinerary, it became abundantly clear that my flight left at 1pm.
9 hours sooner than I thought it would.
And I hadn't yet packed a SINGLE item.
I allowed myself 90 seconds of complete chaos. I screamed, I hugged Donald, I cried, and then I said nothing.
Then we got to work. I ran around the house screaming and squawking, throwing random items of clothing at Donald while he ENTIRELY packed for me and reminded me, step by step, of what I needed to bring.
I took a shower while he finished packing and loaded the luggage up, and then we left for the airport.
I left him with a heaping load of dirty dishes, several loads of laundry, and all sorts of other tasks to complete that he doesn't have time or energy for, and he didn't complain once.
He works roughly 60 hours a week. I... I work 20, and am now spending 2 weeks of rest and relaxation in Thailand.
But still, somehow that amazing man frequently pulls BOTH of our weight. He amazes me, and I adore him.