First off, the faucet didn't come with the necessary parts to connect to a copper water supply since all new fixtures attach with flexible hose, which necessitated Home Depot trip numbers 3 and 4. A closed door was mandatory to discourage adventurous kids from exploring the toolbox, the toilet, and the vast assortment of household cleaners scattered about to make room for work under the cabinet. That may seem an insignificant detail, except that the front bathroom is the only room in the house that lacks an air-conditioning vent, making it get very hot after just a few minutes of closed door work. (Yet another frustrating detail I would dearly love to calmly discuss with the original home builder before calmly punching his lights out).
I could only tolerate the hot, dead air for a few minutes before I decided to inconspicuously ease the door open and quietly revel in the comforts of cooled air while the kids played with Heather, Grandma and Auntie M in the front room. I crept under the sink once more like a mechanic under a car. I worked quickly as I watched a series of small drips from the water supply form an ever-growing pool next to my head despite the water valve already being shut off at the street (yet another ridiculous requirement since our under sink shutoffs are old and completely ineffective). The raised edge of the cabinet uncomfortably pushed into the middle of my back, my eyes focused above, and both my arms extended to the fittings for what seemed like an eternity.
Heather was helping me with some particularly difficult maneuvers, and I was just beginning to enjoy the air and a slight realization of progress when I saw movement from the corner of my eye and realized the jig was up. Justin gave his standard enthusiastic greeting "Ah-Bah!" (translation unknown) and made a bee-line for either the open toolbox or chemical stockpile. I reached as far as I could and extended my leg up off the floor to his waist to stop him, and tried in vain to encourage him to go "Get Mommy." I was rather proud of this exhibition of great patience while in a position that would make a Yoga teacher cringe when I heard Norah cry "Daddy!" I saw a sudden blur transform into my 2 year old daughter executing a near perfect cannonball on my midsection. Kids, tools, and a small explosion of pained cries ricocheted around the bathroom as I begged for back-up.
I think the point of this story is that kids keep you alert and humble. You may be the Daddy, but every time you think you have a situation under control and take focus off your kids, you're due for a sore back. 
No comments:
Post a Comment