Saturday, August 29, 2009

Assembling an Escape

I have no imminent topic today.

Not much going on, just this and that.

I'm supposed to be grocery shopping, but, really, don't we all have more than we need already?  Perhaps this would be a good week to pare down the stockpiles and thin out the freezer.  Yes, that's it.  I'm on to something.  Done.  No grocery shopping.  Today, anyway.  

Hubbo is assembling a new computer desk as we speak, and I'm staying decidedly out of it.  It's not because we don't work well together, we usually do (with some now legendary exceptions).  It's because he has decided to let both kids "help."  All four of us, when there is a serious task to accomplish?  Not a good combination.  I won't venture to explain why; it just isn't.

So I sit here, chatting with you, hiding in plain view.  I'll be glad when it's over and nothing got scratched or cracked.  My husband seems so calm and sure of things.  It's like he doesn't know the six year old is very likely to kneel on screws any minute -- even while they're on top of the desktop board that is unadvisedly set before her on the floor.  And he seems to think my son is way stronger than he really is.

My son is in the "spaghetti phase," as I call it.

He's tall for his age and growing so fast, you can almost watch it.  And he is currently shaped like spaghetti -- spaghetti arms, spaghetti legs, spaghetti body -- all long and thin (I should only have such problems!), and . . . spaghetti strength.  Bones may grow longer, but muscles don't grow stronger, when you're nine.  So each time my husband sends my son to bring the next piece over, I cringe because I know it is a bit too heavy for him.  And I know my son would sooner drop the piece directly on his feet and have it crack in two than admit to his father, up front, that it is too heavy for him.

So here I sit, talking to you, throwing in my two cents when needed:  "Daddy's right, don't stand on the boards."  "Yes, leave all the screws in the bag."  "No, the dog does not want to help."  My breathing is quite irregular as I have been holding it intermittently and erratically.

Uh-oh, there has been a pause in production.  Confusion seems to have descended upon the group.  The kids have been instructed to stop talking, "just for a minute." More silence.  Nothing, nothing.  Still nothing.

This sounds serious.

Perhaps the grocery store wouldn't be so bad afterall . . .


Patti said...

Ha-this reminds me of a "screw" story. don't worry it's family rated...

Was a few summers back-my mom wanted a shed to store all their junk-so they ordered a "assemble it yourself" job from Sears. it was supposed to be a "grampa and grandsons" project. The first step was to build the "platform". My boys worked with my dad all day. By dusk they reported that "grampa could be mighty bossy and stubborn"-hmmm-I could have told them that-and they should have known it-since those are traits I seem to "inherited"-lol

By the next day, the boys vannished-urged by gramma to go fish with their friends, hang out with cousins-they are no dummies... that left mom and I to help.

Now mom worked in a factory and was used to reading blueprints and directions, but Dad refused to listen to her. Mom "sneaked off" on the premise that it was hot and we all needed lemonade. She made the lemonade but refused to "participate" with the assembly after that snub. Mom surveyed from the porch-in the shade-drinking lemonade

Ok-so now it's down to me as dad's sole "apprentice". Why-because either I'm a glutton for punnishment or I just LOVED my dad too much-or maybe both. Anyway, dad then started bossing me around-fine I ignored him. He was INSISTENT that ALL of the screws be put in a white plastic bucket-because that way they wouldn't get lost AND nobody would step or kneel on one. When it was time for us to go "fetch" the side pieces, I dutifully walked ten paces behind him-with the bucket of screws carefully balanced on my head. With my hips swaying side to side, I trailed behind him. he was completely oblivious to the happenings going on behind him. At that point mom completely lost it and spit her lemonade all over the porch as she burst out laughing.

Renee' said...

Patti -- Since you're still with us today, I assume you didn't drop the bucket?! :)

My father was much the same to work with. On the occasion that my mother put aside her better judgment to help him, it would undoubtedly end with, "Don't talk to me that way!" And that was that. Ahhh, sweet memories. No really.

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