I scratch his back, particularly in the spot over his pentagram tattoo, with the thick black ink that itches all the time.
I hide a nebulizer capsule or two in strategic locations, just in case we’re “out of medicine” and he has an asthma attack. (If it’s there, he’ll use it as prescribed when it’s not an emergency. But sometimes we go months in between refills. Breathing is nice.)
Every time I make Italian food, I make two different sauces. Tomato-based for my son who hates alfredo (says it smells bad), and cream/cheese or garlic/butter based for my husband, whose stomach is sensitive to tomato acids. Yes, it is twice the dishes, thank you for asking.
Leaving a bottle of water and a packet of BC powder next to his bed the morning after his band plays a show.
Stupid little stuff, really.