That's testosterone for you

As miracles go, it probably won't rank up there with fishes and loaves or turning water into wine, but around Chez Reed, it was pretty profound: Jeff did yardwork yesterday.

He'd come home sick from work on Friday and like a good Ebola carrier, immediately quarantined himself from us. Once on the couch downstairs, he didn't move. He barely watched TV. Apparently he needed the rest.

I'd taken the day off so was able to get most of our chores done before getting Alison to the salon for her historic hair cut. Ali went to a concert with her friend Nick and his family. Lilly and Madeline Jurkiewicz are  soon to become global phenoms and they had a concert in town. I had Bunco, and Jeff had the couch. 

But Saturday morning, he was dressed, up before Alison and talking about chores like a squirrel who'd feasted on fermented acorns. The switch from near-death to weekend warrior was remarkable.

"That''s testosterone for you," Alison said.

After she got dressed, she discovered him on the roof and decided elevation was far more exciting than the laundry waiting at basement level.

In the 90 minutes she had before Young Actors Theater, she'd swept out gutters and helped trim a scraggly fir tree that was clogging leaves at the corner of the house. I wasn't sure I'd get her down, but I lured her with Ramen.

I generally work out while she's acting, and we also hit the grocery. So it was nearly four hours before we got back home. We pulled in the drive to find a bunch of distended lawn bags at the curb and all the debris that had floated down from the roof was gone.

"I think he mowed the yard," I said. 

"Wait. Dad did yardwork?" she said.

We looked at each other. Jeff bounded out of the house to us, enormous grin on his face, recounting all the outdoor work he'd done and reaching into the trunk to lift out groceries. "Who are you and what have you done with the Captain," I asked.

Now married people, I have a riddle for you. Alison had a sleepover planned, and her pick-up was set to occur within 30 minutes of our return. He'd not only done yardwork, and cleand up, but he'd spoken with the shed guy who we've been planning to contact for about three years now.  It's on schedule to be done before Thanksgiving. And, he'd scoped out movie times for "The Judge," which I'd said I wanted to see.

What do you think that grin was all about?

For the record, I'm a fan of testosterone.