I love that my husband is a “fixer”.
Anytime I have a problem of any sort, he is the first one to say, “What can I do?”
Most men are like this to some degree, but because of the nature of Greg’s job, he not only has ideas to fix things, he has the know-how as well.
Like when our sewer was backing up, did he collapse into a heap, crying about our ruined off-white carpet & call a plumber on a Sunday night at 8pm like I would have?
He grabbed a plumbing snake & snaked our clean-out (those are all his words. It’s obvious that I don’t have a clue what I just said) when it was 25 degrees outside. He then used his shop vac to suck up most of the icky water that had gotten out of the bathroom and into the hallway.
It took an episode similar to that about every 6 months for a year and a half before we finally cut down the tree in our front yard whose roots were the culprit.
Hauling off brush & whining about how hot it was were my contributions to that tree-removal project.
When we were driving with our 18-month-old son to Florida to see his brother & the van’s engine starting knocking & we were in the middle of nowhere, did he panic & call AAA & pay through the nose for a tow like I would have?
He drove to the nearest gas station, grabbed a few quarts of oil & we were on our merry little way.
Okay, fine. He wasn’t too merry that I forgot to get my oil changed before we left. He got over it eventually. I think.
Usually these fixer-traits are downright lifesaving.
Last night, it was just plain annoying.
We were lying in bed & I mentioned how the bathroom light has been flickering and I wondered if it were about to go out.
At that moment, not only did the bathroom light go out (it’s an automatic light on a motion-sensitive timer) but so did the bedroom light/appliances.
Greg got out of bed & began investigating.
After several failed attempts at fixing it & many silent trips into the kids’ room (isn’t that where everybody’s breaker box is?! Our house is seriously effed up.), he determined that he was going to have to run some new wiring from our attic access (not a true attic, of course) into the bathroom.
I wanted to watch the season finale of Dexter.
He wanted me to “help” figure out the problem.
Since he wasn’t going to let me watch TV, I “helped” by standing in the doorway, arms crossed, with my head leaned against the frame while talking incessantly about what’s going to happen to Lumen & will Dexter get to her in time & what the hell does Michael C. Hall see in his TV sister/real-life wife? She’s so . . . mannish. My Gawd, she wears plaid shirts that are tucked into her jeans in almost every episode & she has the weirdest smile that I’ve ever seen. Also? She swears a lot which doesn’t bother me in the least, but she does it in such a way that reminds me of a person that is brand-new to swearing. In one episode she called somebody a shit-fuck. (Sorry, mom) What the hell does that even mean?! Also, I’m not trying to be a stickler but grammatical rules tell us that she should have said shit-fucker, amiright?
He would blatantly ignore me and say things like, “Hey, uh, I need that screwdriver. No, not that one! That one! I didn’t ask for the Phillips!”
In turn, I would huff, roll my eyes and grab the flat-head screwdriver.
By 11:00, he finally gave up & said that he would deal with it in the morning.
10:1 odds say that when I get home in a few hours, my bathroom light still won’t be working.
P.S. I feel like I should throw in some sort of disclaimer about how helpful Greg usually is, but last night his need to fix the light wasn’t as big of a deal to me as it was to him.
P.P.S. Honey? If you are reading this, know that I love you very much & I’m so grateful of your ability to fix all of our weird house problems.
P.P.P.S. Babe? You didn’t say ” love you” back. You do still love me. Right?