Adulting 101: Fixing Up the House

I hadn't received any more cancer bills in recent months, and we had finally had to put in new roof.  We decided to do a little remodeling.  Larry wanted to get rid of the carpet, since it was 15 years old.  What about laminate flooring? I was fine with that.  I wanted to paint.  Off to Home Depot we went.

Home Depot has the paint in the front of the store.  They do this because they know that potential customers will be immediately distracted by the idea of painting a variety of colors all over their walls.  And I was indeed distracted, my eyes aglow at the idea of Translucent Silk(TM) covering my walls.  I reasoned with Larry that we hadn't painted the house since we moved in, and we were due. He was unconvinced, until I pointed to a big sign. PAINT SALE.  That was all the convincing that Larry needed. We grabbed some paint chips to bring home to aid our selection.

"But we are here for the flooring," he refocused me.  So off we went, past the gorgeous fridges that beckoned us alluringly with their ice makers.  We found the flooring and spent several minutes standing in front of a number of samples. Then we found a guy to talk to about the flooring, and we bothered him long enough to get an estimate as to cost.  After a rather prolonged argument about color, we chose some samples, and took them home. The next day, Larry and I were back, our decisions made.  We got the flooring ordered, installation set up, then purchased painting supplies. We felt very grown up. 

This is what homeowners do. When you live in an apartment, someone else takes care of the run of the mill things such as mowing the lawn, spraying for bugs, clear a clogged drain.  When you own a home, there's nobody to take care of the field of grass growing in your back yard but you.  And home ownership does not come with a lawn mower or a pack of llamas.  Or rakes.  Or those covers you have to buy to keep your outside pipes from bursting in a freeze.  When the showers need to be caulked, or the toilet overflows and the water leaks downstairs into the pantry, you're the one who has to take care of it.  Larry is much less likely to remove a finger while using power tools, so he gets the fun job.    

This is part of being an adult.  You get to figure out what you need and purchase it or hire someone and pay them to do it.  You become a problem solver by default. Your parents won't be there to take care of it.  

So probably a good idea to start practicing problem solving now.  Start small, like choosing a coffee maker.  Go from there.  You can do it.  

Just Let Things Be

I've decided after all these years that I just need to accept that I am a Fixer. Not a Harvey Keitel in Pulp Fiction sort of a Fixer. If you tell me that you have a problem, I immediately want to tell you how to fix that problem. That kind of a Fixer.

Fixing a problem is sort of like breathing to me. It's as if my brain does that Google search thing where it tries to helpfully anticipate and throw in words and phrases based on your history, and an answer spits out before a person has even finished talking. Sometimes just the look on a person's face has me thinking "Dump the bum!" before they even open their mouth! It's like I'm a Dr. Phil-type who has had way too many cups of coffee.

I won't say anything out loud, of course. Not anymore. Although I love to be helpful, I keep my mouth shut tight. It's a well known fact that people don't like being told what to do. It's also a well known fact that nobody likes a know-it-all. But that's not why I keep quiet.

I stay silent because I don't want the responsibility.

Other people's problems can be a social quagmire. If I am correct in my suggestions, then I am the smartest person on the planet, according to the person who requested my advice.

If I am incorrect, which I am more times than I'd like, whatever happened is my fault. Never mind that I specifically mention that I am giving an opinion. Never mind that I tell them to make their own decision. It doesn't matter. If I am wrong, it is my fault, and I am expected to take full responsibility for ruining everything for them.

Seriously? Everyone is so hellbent on not accepting responsibility for any choice they make that nothing gets done. This is not very efficient, people! I can't do everything around here!

My husband is always after me to 'just let things be' and to not worry about other people. I drive him nuts with my 'fix everything NOW' tendencies. I've decided to try it his way. I promised him that I would try to fix my tendency to want to fix everything. My plan is to have a margarita every time the urge to solve anyone else's problems arises. Or a bellini if it is before noon.

It is a sure thing that if I am unconscious, I can let things be.

My Husband the Fixer

I was in the middle of cleaning the kitchen a couple of days ago when I discovered the sink wasn't draining. I hollered something to Larry, who murmured something unintelligible from the other room. I finished cleaning up and went on to other, more pleasant activities. About an hour later, my husband gets up from his Xbox game and comes into the kitchen to get a drink.

"Why didn't you tell me the garbage disposal was broken?" he yells from the kitchen.

"I did tell you!" I yell right back. We are all about the communicating, my sweetheart and I.

Larry decided to sleep on the matter, and to be honest, I was glad. My husband is not known for his maintainence skills. Most of the little odd jobs that need to get done around the house are done by...my dad or someone we can ply with alcohol. Larry means well, but he's a computer geek. Geeks just don't tend to pay attention to how to fix stuff around the house unless it's some sort of electronic device. Understandably, I was worried that we would end up having to pay extra because Larry 'fixed' things.(and to be fair, I am no better at "fixing" things. There is a really good reason that I am not allowed to have power tools.)

The next morning as we were getting ready to leave to go to lunch, Larry poured Drano into the disposal. When we came back, everything looked...exactly the same. Larry made a bold decision to put on gloves and reach into the disposal and see if he could pull some of what was blocking the drain out of there. I say it was a bold decision because we've both seen way too many horror movies where bad things happen to people who stick their fingers down the garbage disposals; let's just say that it never ends well and that it creeps me out.

Larry stuck his hand down in there. He looked perplexed. I watched, ready to jump into action at a moment's notice. I had no idea what the heck I was going to do, but I was going to do it quickly.

This time, thankfully, my services were not required. One of Zane's cups had fallen into the disposal and become wedged in there, blocking the drain. Larry was able to get a knife and pry it out of there. After that, of course, the disposal worked perfectly, as did the drain. Larry began dancing in the kitchen, his hands in the air.

"I fixed it! I fixed it!" he chortled. "You were going to pay a plumber to fix that, and I did it!!!" I just smiled and let him dance. Sometimes the key to a good marriage is knowing when to keep your mouth shut.