My husband spent the evening in his shop creating legs for a table he plans to bring to market. The sawdust was flying so thick that by the time he finished, he looked as though he had been lightly breaded. It was in his hair, up his nose, clinging to his clothes, and packed into his pockets as though it had signed a lease.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Meanwhile, I was inside trying to convince a favorite button in my app to do the one thing a favorite button is supposed to do. Apparently, the button had other dreams.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He finally came through the door, reached into his pocket, and announced, \u201cI have a pocket full of sawdust.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked up from my rebellious little heart button and told him, \u201cNo, you have a pocket full of sunshine.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And that is our version of an evening at home. He turns wood into furniture, I argue with invisible computer instructions, and together we scatter sunshine and sawdust across the floor. <\/p>\n\n\n\n