Summer weekends can be particularly difficult in the midst of major renovations, like residing the freaking house, which we’re doing right now. You go to your “normal” job and work hard as a desk jockey all week and come home hoping to just putz around but he needs you because he’s at a point that one person can’t do it alone due to architectural follies such as shed roof lines that are two and a half stories in the air. So instead of putzing around and maybe making a trip to the international supermarket in Cincinnati, you find yourself on a ladder in the blazing sun swearing very loudly to yourself that you are f**king NEVER going to do this again. But then, by the end of the day, significant progress has been made and the house is starting to look like a house instead of an abandoned barn and the neighbors are driving around and around the cul de sac for no apparent reason other than to view the progress. Two old queers on ladders putting up HardiBacker boards is great theatre.
But at some point you stop whining because you realize He Has Been Doing This Shit All Summer. Most every single day he’s been pulling something down or putting something up or doing prep work for something or make another one of dozens of trips to Lowe’s for materials. The great thing about teaching is supposed to be the fact you get summer vacation just like the kids, but in reality, at least at my house, he works harder in the summer than at his “real” job.
I don’t see how he does it. I love the design process, the decision making, but I also enjoy the hell out of every minute of my free time. I enjoy sitting down and reading. I enjoy naps. I enjoy shopping for odd and interesting food. I do not enjoy climbing up and down ladders all day, even though I think I actually dropped about 10 pounds over the past two weeks helping him while I was on my vacation, and my shoulders look broader than they have since I was 20, and my man boobs have squared up nicely. There are advantages to physical labor. I just don’t want to do it all the time. I just don’t want to do it very often. I’m basically lazy, whereas he enjoys proving to himself he can do something new, and he’s such a perfectionist that the finished project is usually pretty amazing.
So if he has a grumpy weekend in August, he’s freaking allowed to. He’s tired, and he won’t admit it, and he’d love to take the weekend off to putz around but he knows he can’t get anything accomplished next week if I don’t help him get some parts done this week, so that’s how it is. And the end result is a beautiful house, which I predict will be worth at least twice what we paid for it, and I get to live here. I just have to live with ongoing renovations.