My husband kicked a hole in the wall. He morphed into the incredible hulk, ripped his t-shirt to threads, and just kicked the insulation right out of it.
The gutteral shouts of “Ggrrraaaahhhrgggg!” could be heard for miles. It was an epic, wall-breaking moment.
FYI, it’s probably best if you don’t believe me. Partly because I make stuff up. Partly because Greg, while incredible, isn’t hulkish and never kicks stuff. And partly because the hole is the size of a kiwi fruit.
Even more embarrassing for Greg than having the bloggy world think he’s a wall-kicker would be letting you think he has kiwi-sized feet. Poor guy.
The truth is, we had a baby gate in this particular hallway spot for about three years. And the gate weakened the wall. And my husband took out the gate. By tripping over it so that it busted through the wall.
I’m sure Greg’s super happy that I just mentioned his tripping-over-a-baby-gate episode to y’all. So excuse me for a second while I talk to just him. Remember how I cleared you of that horrible kiwi-sized feet rumor, Babe? That’s ’cause I love you. Keep that in mind.
Anyway, that was about six months ago now. So that hole’s getting a little old.
But that’s OK, because it was also about six months ago that I busted the “bake” button on our oven. You know the button that sets the temperature and allows you to actually use the oven? Yeah. That button. I was just very enthusiastic one day about baking, so I guess I got a little over-zealous with the button-pushing. Never fear, though. The ice pick is working just fine for jamming in the missing-button hole and forcing the oven to start, so that’s not getting old at all.
Just didn’t want you to think that every broken thing bugs the heck out of me.
Because it doesn’t.
Like how the Tab key is stuck on this computer I’m using. Doesn’t bother me a bit. I can let that go right this Tab Tab Tab Tab second.
You know what does bother me, though?
Thing #1: THAT HOLE
It mocks me. (Filthy baseboards are clearly not a problem, however. Chalk another one up in the “Doesn’t Bug Me” column. Yay!)
Thing #2: Girls who wait around to be rescued by wall-fixing men. Seriously, Me. Rescue thyself. If the wall bugs you, fix it. Don’t be a helpless damsel. It’s SO very unattractive. Easier. But still unattractive.
And I thought… Gosh! What kind of an example do I want to be to my kids about who women are? About our capabilities? About being go-getters? About gettin’ stuff done?
I knew there was only one answer.
So I took matters into my own hands.
And I fixed that hole.
Yes, I did.
The kids were fascinated.
Geez, guys. It’s like you’ve never seen Mommy fix anything.
The dog was fascinated.
Actually, he wasn’t fascinated. He just wanted to take advantage of my floor-sitting position to crawl into my lap. So I had to hold him still with my foot for a photo first. Then he crawled in my lap. That made fixing the wall extra easy. He’s such a big helper.
But, even with all the help, I persisted.
And here it is. My FIXED WALL! Yee to the haw!
The final product:
Yep. That took me a Sharpie marker, ten minutes, and a LOT of times saying, “I know we’re not supposed to draw on walls, but do what I say and not what I do. K, kids?” Which I can tell is going to work out really, really well in the days to come.
There’s a nonmischievous kid right there who’s TOTALLY gonna listen to his mama and keep the walls around here marker-free.
I can feel it in my bones.
It feels good – really good – setting the right kind of example for my kids.