Handymom

My father is not handy. He has many skills, but you simply will not find him with a power tool or a paint brush. My mother is a different story entirely, and the garage workbench was always hers. Why, then, do I lament that my own husband is only a very reluctant handyman? I married a geek, and such a beast is not particularly known for building furniture.

Don’t get me wrong; the Hubbles has felled his share of dead Aspens, repaired our fence more than once, rehung cabinet doors, and painted walls ad nauseum. He also is quite helpful with housework.

So why do I get a little jealy when I read about John over at YHL pulling out the Jig and building some custom furniture?

Probably because I am an idiot and an inconsistent feminist.

Something I’ve noticed about John and Sherry is that they both work their butts off, and they tend to have areas of expertise in projects. I think John happens to do a lot of physical building, in the same way that I happen to do laundry, cooking, and weeding; and the Hubbles happens to mow the lawn, clean out the gutters,  and wear out Tank. It’s not about traditional gender roles – it’s just how we all sort out our contributions.

Basically what I’m saying is that not a darn thing is stopping me from learning how to use the power tools and build my own darn custom furniture, shelving, raised planters, et cetera,  if that’s what I want. Except free time and laziness.

I’ve added Ana White, Homemaker, to my RSS reading list, and I’m not up to building anything just yet, but I’m definitely Pinning projects I want to try and using her blog as a blunt-force reminder that I’m perfectly capable of putting on my Big Girl Panties and doing things myself.

Update: a couple of hours after I wrote the draft for this, we had a Random Plumbing Emergency. Like, the Hubbles went downstairs to put diapers in the dryer and discovered water pouring down the wall. Pro-tip: this is bad. Fortunately, we already have a plumber we like, and he was just finishing his last job for the day and was available immediately. Apparently, our pantry used to be a wash closet, and the… knob… thingies… on the pipes in the wall had rusted completely through. It was gross. There was some drywall cutting to find the leak and repair it, and then Hubbles picked up a few items to do the wall repair and fixed that up. The reason this is relevant is that it wasn’t even a question which of us was going to be patching that wall. On the one hand, he’s patched plenty of holes before, and on the other hand, if I did it, then he’d be stuck with two kids that would probably be crying the entire time for Momma. Except he’d have to show me how, so I guess we’d have had to have waited until bedtime, and some little baby no longer seems to believe in bedtime and needs his Momma when he should be snoozing. Which is a bunch of excuses that all add up to how this Putting on the Big Girl Panties and Doing Shit Myself is a work in progress.

A very long progress.

*Photo by Peter Lindberg, used under Creative Commons