It took us seven years to finish our house. Seven years and who knows how many projects and trips to Home Depot. Seven years of making it exactly the way we wanted it– and then we sold the house and bought this flippin’ fixer upper here in Nashville.
This Nashville house is in need of a new everything and so here we are, remodeling again, just like when we first got married.
The good news is that some things have changed. We know what we’re doing, for the most part. We know when to hire out. And we know how to communicate our wants and needs much better now. I’ve perfected my job as Lovely Assistant. I can say I don’t like something and it won’t turn into a battle. He can tell me how long a project will take and I know to double that time. We’ve grown up and because of that, it’s much easier to work with him than when we first started out. We’ve evolved from that shiny new couple, full of hope and dreams, into this - he doesn’t ask me to assist on things unless he really needs me and I don’t end up in tears when he cusses me out in Scottish slang. Heck, at this point, I’m well versed enough to cuss him back my bastardized version of Scottish slang.
Conversations during the remodel usually go like this – (Check out this website should you wish to have all of Husband's side of the conversation translated, not just the name calling.)
HUSBAND: Hold the thing, you numpty.
ME: I am holding the thing!
HUSBAND: Hold it straight.
ME: I am!
HUSBAND: That isnae straight, you bampot! (Grumble, grumble, bitch, moan…)
Not always a nice conversation but we’d perfected it. We’d had seven years to perfect this type of communication. And then his friend came over to help him Saturday and it all went pear shaped.
Saturday, when is awesome, cool, funny friend, “Bob” came over, I didn’t have to hold a thing or rush right over when Husband's panicked, “eeejay! Come here reit noou!” came screaming down the hallway. I didn't have to do a thing because his awesome, cool, funny friend held what he was supposed to hold and held it straight. He didn’t ask questions about why he needed to hold things or what was happening next or why Husband wasn't doing it a different way... He just held the thing and they chatted about random stuff and everyone had a good time.
And I thought it was a good thing, the best thing ever… until yesterday.
Yesterday, when Husband was up in the attic, bent over in an unnatural crouch, peering down a hole in the plywood and I was in the entryway on a stepladder looking up him through the tiny hole between the chandler and the ceiling rose.
ME: What wires am I pulling?
HUSBAND: The ones right there. The ones I told you to pull.
ME: I don’t understand why I need to pull them.
HUSBAND: I cut them off. I need you to pull them out.
ME: But why?
HUSBAND: Just pull the wires!
HUSBAND: Are you pulling the wire?
ME: Yes. I’m just not understanding… What I’m doing. How far do I need to pull it?
HUSBAND: You don’t need to know. Just pull it.
ME: I am pulling it, you ass.
ME: I am pulling it. But how far am I supposed to pull it.
HUSBAND: JUST PULL IT!
ME: I AM! I JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY YOU NEED ME TO PULL IT OUT.
HUSBAND: THIS IS WHY I LIKED WORKING WITH BOB. HE DIDN’T ASK QUESTIONS. HE JUST PULLED.
And suddenly, one lovely afternoon with Bob and Husband and I are back to our first year of non-communication communicating. Only now, not only am I getting yelled at, I’m getting compared to Bob and his perfect rendition of Lovely Assistant which, apparently, puts mine to shame.
ME: Ah love remodelin’. Sae much fin isnae? Cannae dae some mair?
Now, instead of the big massive crematoriums that were our front lights, we have these dinky little lights that really should cut down on the murders.