Monday, September 12, 2011
The Day My Arms Died
When we first bought our house, I spent all my time painting and trying to fix it up. In the first couple of months, we painted the entire house, by ourselves (including cabinets), installed new hardwood flooring, carpeted the stairs and replaced the light fixtures. Last summer, we trenched our yard, installed a sprinkler system, painted our siding, moved in 32 cubic yards of topsoil, seeded, poured a 10x10 concrete pad, & built a deck.
We worked hard and I was buff. I flexed my bicep and people two blocks away oooh'd, and aaahh'd -- okay, it was my 6-year-old and he does that on command, but still. I was tough.
Now, after taking only one year off from all the DIY amazingness, I did a weekend project. I decided to take a closet that was formerly used for storing tools and store food there. Now, my cleanliness standard for storing food is significantly higher than my husband's tool-cleanliness-standard. So, I emptied the closet, scrubbed it clean, primed and painted it...
and then my arms fell off. Or at least I'm wishing they did. Someone took my strong, buff arms and replaced them with gelatinous masses of goo. I'm pretty sure there aren't even bones in them anymore. They just hang there, limply, by my side. They are no longer good for anything but shooting pains up to my brain and out the top of my head.
As you can imagine, just propping them up enough to type this post took a feat of engineering. And that is how much I love you guys. That I hired a mini-crane, a.k.a. 9-year-old boy, to come lift, prop-up, and arrange pillows to make this post possible.
So, what did you guys do this weekend? Also, can someone lift up my Diet Coke?