MR. HANDYMAN, DID HE OR DID HE NOT

We called in a local handyman.  Our house needs some attention that it hasn't gotten in the last few years.  The family room floor needs replaced, it has big worn out places.  DH, darling hubby, put down a floating laminate floor about 12 years ago which we have since learned manufacturers have improved upon and that that kind is no longer available and the computer chair has worn off the surface. We have 3 doors that are difficult to shut and secure.  And we have a couple of problem vents on the roof above the bathroom.  

So, I started experiencing CHAOS, Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome, right?  Even though you have to go to work, you look around with a visitor's eye and wonder what to clean first.  Before heading to work I straightened up everything --  straighten couch covers, hang up a coat (who's coat is this anyway????), clear the table, ditch the slop, flush the toilet, you know, base things.  Red cheeks here.  Well, pink anyway.

Then after work, I dived in sweeping floors, washing countertops, and hiding dirty dishes (which means I put them in the dishwasher but couldn't start it since there wasn't a full load).  Never mind that Mr. Handyman might see the dust between the rungs of the chairs, or that the sink isn't shining, or the door he's checking out has forehead grease spots on it.

Yes, my boys and their Cousin, still little boys just below the skin, stand at the door to look out over DH, Darling Hubbie's, empire and lean their foreheads on the glass.  This is a continuous state of my life.  (dramatic eye rolling.)

Speaking of little boys, when Ian was 6, he and I had a bout of scabies.  Scabies has a connotation of being an old, and dirty disease.  It lasted several months and WE WERE MISERABLE.  Now anytime someone gets a little itchy red raised spot, it's a joke in the making, "Ew, she's got scabies!"

Anyway, back to Mr. Handyman who pulls into the drive with a black Big Ram truck and long trailer.  Knocks on door.  Smiles.  Exchange business cards.  Take him on tour of house.

And then.  There it is.  There it always is.  The thing you overlooked, the thing you thought no one would ever see.  The thing that makes you wish you were perfect Mrs. Beaver or better yet, Mrs. Casper the ghost.

DH and I plop notes around the house because with our jobs we're like ships passing in the night.  I had spied a water stain on the bathroom ceiling and left him a note pinned to the curtain with an arrow pointing up

"Is that a new spot?"

We have clowns.  Someone wrote in the left corner  "What spot??"

And in the bottom corner some other clown wrote, "That's a bad Sadie. Never open this window!"  And the biggest clown of all wrote the most embarrassing thing of all.   

Did Mr. Handyman see?  Did he read?  Do I play hide and seek?  But no, he's a gentleman, and my cheeks are no longer pink, they're slapped in the face bright red.

The last comment written in black ink was, "Mom!  I think we have scabbies."

~~Pamela~

"A morning is not only Sunrise, 

but a beautiful Miracle of God!,

Good morning, God."