Prior to a few years ago I didn’t realize that a “handyman” is an actual thing these days.  I figured it was a profession that had gone the way of the shoemaker or the milkman (apparently both jobs that are coming back into vogue — who knew?!).  But we’ve discovered Tim, a fabulous man who can build or fix nearly anything.  The attic and storage room shelving he crafted for us the last time he came has been a life changer.

Our To Do list had gotten massive again and I called Tim to the rescue.  So we’ve had workers at the house this week and, while these jobs sorely needed doing, the crew’s presence has been both a blessing and a curse.

I thought juggling my schedule was hard before…add in coordinating times with Tim for them to be at the house, determining if I actually need to be present, and not dropping the ball on obligations already on the calendar and voilá!  I’ve got the perfect storm.

I’m sure you can imagine how well this went.

Tuesday:  I’m volunteering at the school that morning, but Tim decides the work crew should start early anyway because they can begin installing the water heater without needing to get into the house.  Of course it’s raining, so I have to leave the dogs in the master bedroom.  Where is the crawl space/area for installation?  Directly beneath the master bedroom.  So the dogs are trapped in the house, listening to what can only sound like men breaking in through the wall, with no real recourse except their furious objections.

Release the hounds!  Defend the homestead!  We will tear them to bits with our razor-sharp-domesticated-teeth!  (so say the two frantic fur balls in the room with their frenzied barking)

Gracie&Phoebe

Also fun — Tim called me three times while I was at the school.  Ummm, sorry but nope.  I am surrounded by children and in no position to whip out my cell phone and have a conversation right now.  I said I’d be home at 11:15; we can talk about it then.  I’ll just hope the house isn’t on fire.

When I finally get home and walk behind the house to discuss progress, the dogs are launching their second phase of attack.  This involves charging at the windows while barking maniacally.  It’s a miracle they didn’t tear down the blinds with that level of crazy.

Before the men leave for the day we compare schedules for Wednesday (an unexpected volunteer day for me this week), and I agree I can be home by 10:15 from the school.  It isn’t until late that evening that I remember I was supposed to go shopping for groceries.  And that we have no milk. Or apples.  And very few waffles (a breakfast staple for T-man on school days).  BrightSide comes to the rescue by promising to bring them home with him after work.  Hallelujah.

Wednesday:  I get home from school to find the crew working diligently.  It’s still raining (I’m considering pricing materials for an ark) and the dogs are, again, forced to endure the indignity of waiting helplessly in the bedroom for their dwelling to be overrun by the thugs hammering away outside.

After a few hours of listening to their whines and barks, though, I’m at my wit’s end and let them out into the house with me.  Thus begins the fervent prayers that no one will decide to enter the garage door unannounced — this doesn’t tend to go over well with the (“Defend The Homestead!”) dogs. Gracie’s a giant fluff ball that will most likely knock you down in her (70 lb.) enthusiasm and gleefully lick you, but Phoebe can be a bit more territorial.

Late afternoon arrives and I begin to realize we’re probably not going to make it to T-man’s tae kwon do class seeing as there are materials spread all over the garage and two of the men are still working away in there.  OKAY!  New Plan!  No one can accuse me of being inflexible, not this week.  Tae kwon do gets moved to Thursday night, I text BrightSide to let him know, and then try in vain to get some writing done amongst all this craziness.

When the men finish up I get together with Tim to set up their next visit.  I explain that I’ll be out of the house on Thursday from 9:40-2:00 and again for a short block in the afternoon, hoping that we can schedule for Friday.  Instead he asks to begin at 8:00(AM!) on Thursday.  Great.  An early early start.

Side note:  When BrightSide arrives home with the groceries it’s like Christmas morning.  (And I’m reminded once more why I do the grocery shopping.  Years of this chore have all but completely hardened me to every marketing ploy, so I almost always come home with only the items from my list.  His list had four items.  He came through the door with four bags per arm. This is also why the kids MUCH prefer his grocery shopping trips.)

He has saved the day with milk and waffles and apples (oh my!) along with giant pretzels the kids adore.  But there was also a BOGO sale that brought us Doritos, tortilla chips, and (lest you think he’s not health conscious) a container of mutant strawberries.  I’m not kidding, these things are the size of huge limes.  I’m trying not to think about how they managed to produce strawberries this size…

Thursday:  My (traitorous) body decides to give me a 4:30 wake-up call, so by 8:00 I’ve gotten myself ready, the kids off to school, and had two cups of coffee with some breakfast.  Oh, and did I mention it’s raining?  AGAIN?  Honestly, if Sarah McLachlan witnessed the trauma my dogs are experiencing this week she’d show up on my front doorstep with a camera crew.

Since we’re looking at day three (!!!) of rain they still can’t replace the shingles on the roof.  (Nor would I want them to.  Don’t want none of that “bodies falling from the sky” horror show going on in our yard, thank you very much.)  Instead they work on finishing several of the smaller projects and smoothing out the glitches in the kitchen repairs.

I’m supposed to leave for the school at 9:40.  When the clock reads 9:45 I’m in the kitchen, with Tim sprawled on the floor, taken totally by surprise when I’m all “hey, gotta go, why don’t you just lock the door behind you when you leave?”  (‘Cause yeah, we live in a town like that, and Tim’s “good people.”)  He says give him two minutes and they’re done for the morning, so I put my coat on and grab my things while he finishes up.

Now, on a good day I can make it to the school in nine minutes flat.  But then I still have to park, check in at the office, and walk to the far building where the fourth grade classrooms are — there’s no way I’m going to make it on time, and right now we’re doing small group review for end-of-grade testing (don’t even get me started), so I know there’s about 10 students getting ready to gather in one of the rooms where they’ll be waiting on me.  Unsupervised.  Jesus, take the wheel.

This is how I found myself speeding to the school Thursday morning, frantically calling the front office to ask them to notify T-man’s teacher that I’m running a little late and ask which room I’m in.  Fast forward nine minutes to me flying into the parking lot, rushing into the office, and then extremely fast-walking to the classroom that is (of course) at the very end of the hall in the far building.

I skid into the room to see a group of kids quietly reading while they wait for me (sweet!), and as I get the group started in a breathless voice the boy next to me blurts out, “Did you run here?!”  Yes, sadly, I did.  And I need my inhaler.  And to pee.  Desperately.  But I don’t have time for either of those things because my handyman worked until the last possible second.  Thank you for your concern. Let’s do fractions!

Tim worked some more this afternoon and plans to (hopefully!) finish on Friday.  Until they return in a few weeks to install the bookcases for the kids’ rooms.

And if there’s any mercy in sweet heaven above, we’ll have a drought that week.