It might be time for my husband to get a job.  

Might?  I think it's time.

He had what I like to call (with sweet affection, of course) his Jerry Maguire moment about two weeks ago.  He left a job without one waiting.  Yep.  Since, he's been searching for work, resting, and kickin' it with me and our kids.  It's been nice, actually.  

But the honeymoon might be over.  Not that I'm sick of him. Or, that the kids are done -- because they are even more obsessed with him now than before.  But, he's getting a jobless man's version of cabin fever.  There needs to be a term for that.  (note to self -- make up a new, important word for the world to use....)

He was "bored" on Saturday -- so he built a sandbox.  I upped the ante and asked that he put in a permanent lemonade stand, too, so little Josie could pretend waitress in the backyard.  

Done and done.  

He dug out half of the rock under our deck.  He poured 30 bags of sand inside the enclosed area. He went a little crazy with the hooks, but now each shovel, rake and bucket has its own spot.  He found little bubble blowers shaped like ice cream cones and popsicles.  He found watermelon-patterned fabric for an awning.

This is my husband.  A man who appreciates the details -- which no doubt comes from his mother, a member of the Martha Stewart nation.

And, now we play this game.  Josie gets behind the counter and asks "What do you want?"  Dominic was her first customer.  He wanted a mint cone.  Poor guy didn't know it was pretend.  He didn't care, either.

Too bad millions of people don't need highly-detailed sandboxes built.  Joe would have a job. He'd "pimp your box..."  He'd have his own show.  If Ty Pennington could do it......