Diary of a SubUrban Housewife

It was home improvement night here at Casa Atkins.

I say night because it seems that, regardless of the fact that there might be nothing specific of the agenda for the day, all home improvement seems to start at sunset. This applies to nearly every project–from repair of fence posts, i.e., outdoor projects, to such indoor projects as replacing a fixture. A lesser man would not attempt any of these sorts of things in the dark. But my husband is obviously not of the “lesser man” variety.

So tonight was no different and round about sunset Chuck decided to install the new fixture we recently purchased, in the guest bathroom. The fixture in question was basically an impulse purchase from Costco (it cost something like $19.99 and it’s cute so we couldn’t pass it up).

I turned the power off to the bathroom in question. There was much swearing and stomping as Chuck searched for a working flashlight (because recall that it’s dark out now so there’s no ambient light to work by–again…see the lesser man reference above). Then the project commenced. Chuck uninstalled the existing fixture and attached the bracket for the new fixture. Then came the part in this party where he went to install the fixture to the bracket.

But oops….the fixture is centered over the medicine cabinet and directly to the left of the medicine cabinet is a wall. And oops, the fixture is longer than the space available. Chuck’s new plan was to remove the finial-type thingie at the end of the fixture on the wall side but I was having none of that.

So Chuck pulled the old fixture out of the trash and reinstalled it.

At this point I suggested boxing the fixture up and returning it to Costco. But noooooooooo. He was going to install it in Zoe’s bathroom now. And just so you know, he was going to do that originally but changed his mind after looking at the wiring in there or something, but now that it didn’t fit in the guest bathroom suddenly it was a good idea all over again.

So Zoe and I left to go shopping. It seemed like the right thing to do.

We returned home about an hour later and Chuck announced that the fixture had been installed. Great. I missed the cussing, stamping, and attendant drama that all home improvement projects involve. And I didn’t have to hold the flashlight, because by this time it was full dark outside.

Yes, the fixture was up, but for some unknown reason it wasn’t working.

Hmmmmmm.

I was puttering around putting my purchases away when I heard Chuck call Zoe into her bathroom. He had pulled the fixture off the wall and was checking all the wire connections and having her turn all the switches on. He had overhead light. He had heat lamp. He had fan. But the fixture–over the sink–still didn’t work.

It was a puzzlement I tell you.

Until I asked him if he used the switch next to the sink–the only that actually works the above the sink fixture. I flipped the switch. The light went on.

Angel music. Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

Editor’s note: my husband is not actually a WASP, he’s a nice Irish Catholic boy, but that just wasn’t nearly as funny–to me at least.

When a commercial for Bravo’s Series Blow Out came on the TV this afternoon, my husband positively squealed with delight.

My husband has a love/hate relationship with home repair. He’s chronicled it numerous times. You can feel free to search over there. I’ve come up with nothing but I know he’s written about it. OK, maybe he wrote about it in his old journal, but the search engine doesn’t seem to be working so just go read through all his old archives and you’ll find it.

Anyway, home repairs for Chuck typically involve approximately eight trips to the hardware store, much yelling of the ever endearing phrase, “fuckingpieceofshit” and other demonstrations of easy success and the enduring love for humankind that my husband freely emits.

So we can all just imagine his pleasure when two projects unwittingly fell to him today.

Project #1: I noticed that the spigot for the hose at my veggie garden is leaking. It won’t turn all the way off which is a) enormously wasteful of water and $$$$, and b) not good for my veggies. Plus, this leaky spigot caused a rupture in the new hose that I put out there just yesterday. So this morning I planned to head over to the hardware store for a new spigot.

As I was heading out the door to get a replacement spigot Chuck asked me if I could pick up a new spigot.

Great minds thinking alike–I just love that.

I proceeded to show him the DIY page I had just printed out with instructions and said that was exactly what I was off to purchase.

So I get to the hardware store and head over to the hose parts aisle. Seems to me that a spigot would be in that general area because I’ve seen those things you put on the spigot to make it branch to two spigots, and other sort of hose/spigot/outside related stuff.

I found someone to help me. While he was not nearly as helpful as a previous experience I had, he was kind enough to inform me that what I wanted was a hose bib, and not a spigot; and he proceeded to show me to the hose bibs.

Well, since nothing is actually easy, it seems that there are two types of hose bibs–ones that require a coupler, and ones that fit directly onto the pipe. I was fairly certain I didn’t need the kind with the coupler, so we proceeded. Then it turns out that they are either 1/2″ or 3/4″. I was not sure which size I needed so I took one of each, grabbed a pipe wrench and came back home.

When I returned with my booty Chuck took the parts and went out to repair the hose bib. Now, I was going to do it. I’m sure I’m fully capable of having done so, I mean, basically it’s turning off the water, screwing the old one off, cleaning it up a bit, putting on some Teflon tape, and screwing a new one on.

But you know how much easier it is when you don’t have to actually do it yourself. When someone volunteers to do it for you. And volunteers graciously.

Yes, you hear a small chorus of angel music. Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

Well, angel music is great and all but Chuck was doing it. And nothing really goes that smoothly usually (though I continue to have faith that it will).

Well, today was the day when it all worked out. Because not five minutes after Chuck left to start said repair, he returned into the house having completed said repair. And not one single fuckingpieceofshit was uttered.

Cue the Mormon Tabernacle Choir of angel music. Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

(Oh, and it turns out I was on the money about not needing the whole coupler thingy.)

Project #2. Several hours later I remembered that I meant to pick up a replacement towel rack for the guest bedroom. Zoe liked to hang from the old one, so not surprisingly, it fell off the wall.

Chuck’s dad is coming tomorrow to stay and I thought it might be nice for him to be able to actually hang his towel up.

(Of course, why I didn’t remember this and pick it up this morning is another story.)

So back to the hardware store I went. I returned the extra hose bib from earlier and picked up a lovely towel rack. Again, I was all set to install it when Chuck offered.

Laaaaaaaaaaaaa.

Well, about 25 minutes or so after he started a new towel rack graces our lovely guest bathroom. Not one cuss word or ill vibe issued.

Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

Hmmmm…he’s having so much success I wonder if it’s time for me to ask him to build me that addition I’ve been wanting.

(Oh, and since this entry is all about him, no doubt it is considered the “perfect entry”.)

I think you have to be a certain kind of person to share with countless unknown others the (sometimes intimate) details of your life by putting it out there on the world wide web.

I am that certain kind of person. I have be journalizing and blogging since 1999. Furthermore, I am married to that kind of person. Chuck has been journalizing and blogging since 1997.

Because we both blog, the foibles of one are always subject to public humiliation by the other.

There are times when we’ll be having a discussion and one of us will get that “look” that says they’re composing an entry about the situation at that very moment.

We had one such moment at dinner tonight.

The moment followed the discussion wherein I informed Chuck that Zoe is getting little breasts. OK, breasts may be a bit of an exaggeration, as these little nubbins are still not worthy of a training bra, but there is something starting to happen there. Chuck turned 45 shades of red, felt compelled to reminded me of our daughter’s age, and though I didn’t think it was something that was actually possible to observe, I watched my husband go into denial.

And he quickly changed the subject.

We started discussing blogs and his new groovy WordPress blog and I innocently asked if he would re-send me the link to the site he’d sent me the other night with all the wordpress themes listed.

I could tell what was coming next (the whole, sheesh, can’t you find anything yourself discussion–but much nicer than I just made that sound) and before he could start I told him that I had already gone to the WordPress site and that I could not find the themes listed.

He told me to Google it and then …. that’s when it all went downhill for him.

Because it was at that moment that Chuck started to tell that he lives and dies by Google and the right click button of his mouse. He went on to add if he had a “personal coat of arms.” (not without stopping to explain to me what a coat of arms was….as if I needed that explanation) it would feature a G on one side and then paused; and because I’m nothing if not helpful I suggested the other side would have a glowing right mouse button on the other side. He said, “exactly.”

Then I got the look. The look that says it’s all over but the crying. The “I’m so writing an entry about this” look. And because apparently this look is possible to observe Chuck said, “you’re composing an entry about this in your head right now.”

And because I’ve kind of publicly mocked my husband, the least I can do with my meager resources is create a coat of arms for said husband. To wit:

(And just so you all know I haven’t lost my mind, freakin Movable Type no longer lets me resize my pix and let you click on them to increase their size.)

I leave it to ustedes to come up with some kind of snappy motto for him. Because really, if you have a coat of arms you have a motto too, no?

Apparently I’m having some technical issues due to my limited web knowledge.

It seems I mis-followed directions Chuck gave me two years ago and I have been consistently (for the most part) mis-following those directions for the duration of this blog. As a result, when Chuck moved our domain some of my stuff…ummm….well…..seems to be floating out there in cyberspace.

Mercifully the man is on it and things should be back up to speed very soon. And then we’re going to sit down and I’m actually going to listen, and maybe even jot down a note or two when he tells me how to do something.

Then instead of the illusion of self-sufficiency, I actually may be.

The discussion at dinner last night:

Chuck: I am going to get a kilt.
Beth: You’re not Scottish.
C: Not a tartan kilt, just a plain one.
B: So you mean a skirt?
C: No, a kilt.
B: So a man skirt?
C: No, a kilt.
B. Yeah. A man skirt.

I swear I don’t make this stuff up.

There are only a few days left for you lucky readers to sponsor the old man in the Love Ride. (He writes about it here, so I don’t have to here. )

I’ll remind you though that I could be riding in the Love Ride myself, as the holder of my very own spanky M1 certification, but alas, I do not have a bike (and no, I’m not bitter.)

Anyway, click on the link above where I say sponsor, or click on this groovy picture that I stole from my husband and figured out how to work as a link all by my little self.

It’s for a really good cause. Really. Really.

As Chuck reported last week, our furnace has been on the fritz. While in Chuck’s entry he is more the hero, and he stated the facts as they appeared at that very moment, a key part of the story was left out.

But vindication is mine and I offered him the opportunity to post and entry stating the facts. It has now been two hours and nothing has shown up over there and I have a lull in work and now feel the need to tell what really happened.

Yes, our heater was out. Chuck called me at work to tell me this. And, because my powers stretch far and wide, I guess he figured I was going to be able to do something about it from the office, approximately 17 miles from home. Well, while my powers are super fantastic, alas I could do nothing until I got home from work.

We opened the furnace closet, read the directions, and attempted to restart the pilot. It lit, but only for a second and then sputtered out. The furnace closet, being outside, was absolutely filled with spiders and spider webs. My diagnosis of why furnace doesn’t work: spiders in the gas line.

It was I who arranged for the service people to come the next day. I was also the one who knew that the new flux capacitor (or whatever the hell they said it needed) was not a $500 part, but maybe a $100 part, and I told Chuck that if they said that it was the flux capacitor and it was more than $100 don’t do it. So we didn’t have it done.

We never got around to ordering the part online but I did talk to the guy who does service on my A/C system at the office. He agreed to send someone over today.

Well, the service guy arrives with the new flux capacitor, but in testing the old one, discovers that it is not in fact broken. He then toddled over the the plumbing/heating supply store, buys some stuff and does some things. Alas, the heater is still not working.

Then he disengages one of the lines and blows through it. Do you know what came out of the line? Yup. One bigass spider. Line reconnected. Furnace now working.

So yeah, I said it was spiders. I was scoffed. But I was right. And while it is often better to be kind than right, in this case, not so much. I’m right. And I’ll be warm tonight.

My husband. Yeah. Him.

He truly, in his heart, believes that any entry that includes him as the topic is vastly improved. Even if he plays a minor character in the entry, that entry is automatically better.

Case in point: he IM’s me a link. I click on it. He actually said, “An excellent entry by Gavin.” Because as you now know, because you clicked on that link, the entry features him as the point of it. Thus, perfect entry.

He also believes that he improves any joke or story he is recounting. If you tell Chuck a joke (or story), I will guarantee you that when he recounts the joke (or story) he will change it. In his mind improving it.

Like salt improves the flavor of just about anything you add it to, I guess so does my husband. (Who now believes I just wrote the perfect entry.)

Zoe is sick. I am sick. Chuck was sick. Then he apparently gave it to both of us and left town. He’s a giver my husband. None of that is the point of this entry. I guess I just felt like sharing.

Chuck is out of town. He phoned tonight at about 8:00 as he does every night. Zoe’s alleged bedtime is 8:00 so he always calls to say goodnight to her. When he phoned I was sitting at my computer. I shared with him that we both felt like crap and thanked him for being such a giver. He suggested that reading his two new entries would cure what was ailing me (as if), so to humor him I went over to his journal.

I kinda started reading but it’s really hard to read and talk on the phone at the same time so I told him I’d read later.

He insisted, however, that I read at least the top entry and that he’d gladly wait. So I read. I chuckled (no pun intended, but that cracked me up) and told him I was going to click on the link.

The very second, I mean the absolute very second, the picture opened up, I hear through the phone Chuck’s impression of angel music.

We’re so in synch sometimes it even frightens me.