Our house is our new hobby, which is both great and awful. Great, because I like the house and love seeing the end result. Awful, because putting the work in is exhausting, painful, and takes me away from my writing and knitting on the weekends. Fortunately, I am married to a man who is completely in love with what we’re turning our place into, so when we politely ignore the subtext of each other’s statements in the context of house projects, it tends to shake out. For example:
What John said: “What projects should we do this weekend?”
What I heard: “What projects should [air quote] we [/air quote] do this weekend?”
What I said: “Let’s build the firepit!”
What I knew John would hear: “Let’s erect a monument of perfection that will withstand the test of time to remind those that came before us that WE WERE HERE.”
I have this lovely Pinterest board with all kinds of inspiring ideas for beautiful fireplaces, but let’s be perfectly honest. I had been assuming that when push came to shove, we’d just scrape away the grass and throw some rocks on the ground in a vaguely circular shape. And left to my own devices, that is exactly what would have happened. Landscaping is just not as interesting as burning things.
But I showed the Pinterest board to John, and unlike most of the things I force him to look at on Pinterest (such as this), the options really caught his interest. We finally got the planning to the point where we could go out to buy supplies on Friday. (There may or may not be multiple Sketch-up models of a ring of stones that may or may have not involved multiple trips to Home Depot in order to measure and calculate every angle of the building materials in question, but if there are, I had nothing to do with that.)
John woke up with far more energy and enthusiasm for life than I did today, which is an interesting flip, because I’m now getting a bit of a sense of how I tend to wear him out.
What I said: “Let’s take the sod we pull out and toss it onto the rabbit yard.” (We’re trying to grow new grass for the bunnies we’re getting in June.)
What John heard: “Let’s excavate the top level of soil on the rabbit yard so we can put the sod down properly.”
Honestly, the way grass grows in the vegetable garden, I’m pretty sure that if we just chucked the sod root-side down and jumped on it once or twice, it would have been fine. Probably…
John is, as I’m writing this, very carefully using a cleverly devised strategy for making sure not only that all of the bricks are level (in spite of the heinous lack of levelness in our yard), but ALSO that the bricks make a perfect circle. I promise I helped enough to make my arms sore, but if that’s not enough for those of you who know how pathetically little digging it takes to make my spaghetti noodles sore: I didn’t quit until he had me shovel the same wheelbarrow of sand that I had just shoveled out of the pit FOR THE THIRD TIME.
And tomorrow…”we” get to build some stairs. Homeownership is grand. :)