This whole moped-building, end-of-school project of Brett's is starting to remind me of planning our wedding.
Just like with the wedding, his moped-building crises have mounted, first occuring monthly, then occuring weekly, then daily, and now, occuring hourly or even minute-ly.
It seems like every minute there's something else that's going wrong, from the paint chipping off, to the front wheel not spinning like it should, to the handlebars not fitting properly and needing to be drilled out and notched so as to fit around the forks. (I type to the sound of the drill behind me, which is making me sooo nervous, becuase this is the second pair of handlebars he's tried to make work, so if he screws these up, he's out of luck.) Those are just the crises in the past hour, since I got home from the Westbrook City Council meeting.
This situation also reminds me of planning our wedding because I know that in the end, it will all turn out ok, even if it's not exactly like the perfect vision in his head, just like our wedding wasn't perfect -- right down to missing tuxes for the groomsmen, a screwed up hem on a bridesmaid dress, no forks for the cake, and no liquor insurance-license-thingy until 5 hours before the wedding. But it all didn't matter at the end of the day -- tuxes were found, a seamstress came to the rescue, forks were bought (even if they were plastic), and by some miracle, a liquor insurance-license-thingy was able to be obtained on such short notice.
But just like I was a basket case even up to the morning of the wedding, right now, I know it's really, really stressful for Brett.
I'm not sure what I can or should say or do in this situation. My MO as of right now is to listen to his moments of panic and depression, to smile and say, "Sure," when he asks me, "Do you wanna come help me for a sec," and to generally try to encourage him that he can and will get it done, and that it will be wonderful.
On top of all of that, he's getting a migraine tonight, and no wonder. The stress and worry and problems and his desire for perfection are all getting to him, and all I can really do is just to be there if he needs me to hold this bolt or tighten that nut, and to hand him Advil in copious quantities.
It's not that I mind helping, I should say...I'll just be glad when all of this is over.