Taking it Down to the Studs

"Where's my electricity book?"
"Hmm, check the office."

A quick look under the sink, both fire extinguishers still there, both in working order.

"No, any other ideas?"
"What about the living room, try the bookshelf to the left of the fireplace."

Evacuation plan rehearsal, in my head. First, wake both girls and head for the back door. Don't forget the dog, yell for the dog. If time allows, and it should, try to get photo albums and an assortment of the old family photos in the hallway. Wait, where is my engagement ring? I can't leave that behind. Dick Durbin and Barack, if possible, have the girls hold onto those, that will make standing behind the building in the cold rain just a bit easier, while we wait for the fire department to come and extinguish Jack's handy work.

My husband is a lovely man, funny and smart, and such a good husband and father, who could ask for more?

He's not handy. And generally that has been fine as he has always been perfectly content to stimulate the economy by calling on various handymen in the area to come and fix all the things that need fixing when living in a very old apartment. But something has happened, I think he's nesting. Lately he wanders from room to room assessing what could be changed, repaired or replaced, with the apparent intention of taking on these tasks himself. Currently he's focusing on closing an opening between the dining room and family room, and odd cutout that was poorly done. He could just slap up some two by fours, or maybe two by sixes, and then layer on some dry wall, paint, and wow, what an improvement. This should take no more than a weekend, maybe less if he could coerce one of his architect friends to come over and help, and the cost would be minimal. And that is reasonable, if the girls and I move into a downtown hotel for the entire time, one of his architect friends moves in for two days, and he forgoes all need to eat and sleep and watch football. Right, entirely possible.

His mother, many years ago, spent an afternoon showing me family photos of my soon to be husband. There he was graduating from college, on a boat with his uncle, accepting his award as Future Businessman of the Year, and wait, who is that? The skinny guy wearing the tool belt? No, it can't be, but yes, there he was, Jack the builder, roaming the yard while his father and uncles built a back deck on their house. My future husband was at the far end, not actually building anything, but wearing a tool belt no less. She tried to convince me he was helping but I knew, he was surveying the yard and considering the value added to the real estate by the addition of one large deck. Quite likely from that vantage point he was checking out the neighbor's yard as well, running a quick appraisal based on comparable property. There was a calculator in that tool belt, I just know it.

He likes to use the lingo, he can talk the talk. "Taking that down to the studs are you?" is a favorite, and used frequently in any complete home repair scenario. Sadly then the home repair friend takes that as some sort of handy man secret password invitation and begins the four hour dissertation on what specific work is being done. Jack's eyes are glazed at about four minutes.

Soon after we were married he decided he needed a tool box, for what I have no idea, but I suppose that is something a man thinks he must have when he is married. In stereotypical asymmetry, I did not feel any need to rush out and buy a sewing box, to be clear. In fact, he is much better at repairing a lost button that I am, still. But I humored him and bought him a very nice tool basket which horrified him and caused him great angst, clearly very concerned that the entire fantasy football league would come over and laugh at his cute new tool basket. They did not, and he, in a few years, graduated to a real bonafide two level tool box.

The man is a genius, really, one of the smartest people I have ever known. Each night when I go to sleep I am comforted by knowing he is there, and responsible in so many ways for the very welfare of our small family. But please God keep him away from hammers and studs and books on electricity. Let the Blackberry be the tool of choice, the one with the phone numbers for all the handy dandy folks just looking to take something down to the studs.