I love my husband, I really do. But sweet MOTHER are there days when I find myself day-dreaming about the bliss that would be life without him sharing my living space.
Our house has been in a state of renovation and reconstruction for what seems like eternity. We spent the first two years in happy obliviance to the many, many, many things that need to be repaired, replaced, or burned to the ground. But now the ball is rolling, and there is no turning back. So far the changes have been the result of my careful planning (read: after months of not being able to decide what to do, I had a dream and woke up with the clarity of design). Unfortunately DH thinks he is the project manager when, let’s be honest, I clearly excel at that role. Between the battles and lines in the sand we have made some headway. And then came the plumbing.
For over a year we have talked about renovating our bathroom and installing an additional one on the second floor. We’ve spent hours in Home Depot discussing tile; cruised the warehouse dedicated to all things plumbing, picking out tubs and toilets; and wasted entire afternoons firing questions at the poor guy manning the desk at the granite wholesaler. I’m not sure how, in all that time, one simple fact escaped us: My husband is the world’s worst plumber.
Not only is he a horrible plumber, but he hates it and complains about the process the entire time he’s working on a project, which is dragged out as only a professional procrastinator could master. Case in point: Last August our tub sprung a leak and we came downstairs to see water dripping through the ceiling and into the kitchen. DH’s response to turn the water off and resort to the tiny shower in the basement. Which may be great for a man but not feasible for, well, me, and it’s quite clear by this ridiculous plan just who it is in this family that is in charge of bathing our toddler.
After seven months of this, my parents were in town and my dad happened to mention how simple the fix to the tub would be. I was stunned, considering DH had held my pestering about that particular repair at bay with allegations that The Tub Would Need to Be Replaced and The Entire Bathroom Floor Will Have to Come Out. But now I was on to him, and it would be repaired! One month, $100, seven trips to Home Depot and countless badgerings later, I got a phone call at work. “Your tub is fixed! I just need some zip ties, so if you have any at the office bring a few home.” And it’s back to the basement shower for me.