And yes, "Phew" since a toilet is involved.
I had an epiphany today about an unhealthy pattern in my life. My unhealthy pattern includes asking my husband to do handyman jobs around the house. His unhealthy pattern is agreeing to do them. We both KNOW this will lead to grumpiness and completely confirm what we already know which is this: we are about as different as two people can be...in every way.
After 20 years of marriage and 20 years of attempted handyman projects, you'd think I'd learn the most basic lesson which is: Hire the f*cking job out or do it myself!
I wanted the 5-month-old toilet reset so it was level. Currently, you sit your bum on my toilet seat and you will feel like you are sitting in a hard, cold version of the reclining chair in the living room - in recline position. I don't want to sit on a toilet where my gaze is actually directed upward to where the wall intersects the ceiling and my toes barely skim the ground.
I went back and forth for the past month about doing the job myself and then decided I'd ask Scott to do it instead. Yes, I typically try to pawn off the nastiest jobs. If he wasn't interested though, then I'd do it. But, he said yes.
|Scott and me post-Mud Run in June &|
smiling since no home projects were involved.
Today's project makes me think of another one in particular. I laugh out loud thinking about it. Maybe 10 years ago Scott tried to install a bathroom fan (hmm....I see a bathroom pattern also!). He was having fits with it and I just knew he was on his way to electrocuting himself. Several times I thought he had because there'd be loud verbal eruptions full of four letter words, followed by bangs. "You ok?" I'd call up. More verbal eruptions served as evidence that he was still alive. I checked in once to find the fan itself on the ground, an opening in the ceiling where the fan was to be mounted, and Scott so furious with the project that he would not smile or laugh or kid with me about it. I, of course, couldn't stop smiling, laughing and kidding about it, which only made him more tense. Imagine that.
So, I removed myself from the fan installation project, until I heard a huge "POP-WHOOSH-WHINE" all in quick succession. I hurried upstairs and pushed open the door to the bathroom....and there was Scott, looking stunned, standing on a small step stool, directly below the ceiling opening for the fan, Shop-Vac hose in one hand and the Shop-Vac canister in the other hand....and insulation falling like ash around him from BOTH the hole in the ceiling AND from the Shop-Vac canister, which had blown up and sent its contents spewing. I hit the ground laughing, then promptly called both sisters and my best friend to share the story.
It took Scott 8 years to be able to work up a terse smile about that project. Eight years.
He hasn't laughed about it yet.
Just before beginning this blog, I called Scott as he drove to Lowe's for more supplies for today's project. "Well," I said with a laugh, "At least there's no Shop-Vac explosion and floating insulation associated with this project!"
Silence. Looks like getting a laugh out of him about that will take another 8 years.
Whew. Phew. But I feel better. Thanks for listening!