BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Long about the time the O-spring made her debut in this world – technically, about 4 months prior if you want to be exact – E K and I moved. It was a short move in some ways, long in others. You see, we didn’t exactly change homes, just bedrooms.

We live in a modest house, as I’ve said before. It’s around 100 years old, but it isn’t going to be found on any historic registries anywhere. Nothing special happened here, at least not that we are aware. I’m sure something special happened for the folks who lived here at different times, but nothing earth shattering enough to be recorded in the history books.

Anyway, since it’s relatively small, her supreme evilness and I decided that we would move out of the large bedroom on the main floor, and relocate to the smaller bedroom on the second half-story of the house. Why? Because babies take up a lot of space, believe it or not. They come in a small package, yes, but they require an inordinate amount of support equipment. Cribs, changing tables, mobiles, little Dalek looking things that are in reality bizarre machines that take full diapers and turn them into enormous, twisty, poop sausages. Let me tell you, I thought the thing was ridiculous right up until we switched from cloth diapers to disposables. It was worth its weight in gold when it came to disposal of hazardous waste, as long as your “poo sausage casing” cartridge didn’t run out. Trust me, that was cause for panic…

But, enough about the ka-ka…

The thing is, many years have rushed by, disappearing into the distance and making us wonder just where the hell they went. E K and I are getting older… Okay… I’m getting older. Apparently E K has the Dick Clark gene or something. Either way, the O-spring has advanced a few years as well, so we no longer have to worry about her toddling head first down the stairs or anything scary like that. We have other worries instead, but that’s another blog.

What I’m trying to say here is that we are swapping bedrooms again. The Evil One and I are moving back to the main floor – closer to the bathroom, if you know what I mean. And, the spring is going to have a “tween pad,” up and away from the “grups”… Or so she thinks – my office is still right across the landing from the upstairs bedroom and it’s not moving.

I know, I know, get to the point…

Since it has been better than a decade since any work was done to the rooms, we’re in the midst of updating a few things, and taking care of some of the issues one will have with an aging house. To that end, just the other day we were installing some new quarter-round, and other trim in the upstairs space where we had built some recessed shelves some time ago.

These days, one of the problems with trim and baseboards is that a lot of it is made out of plastic. This is okay if you have a nail gun. If you have a hammer, however, it presents a problem. Why? Because you generally have to hit a nail two or three times to drive it in, and when you do, all of the vibrations and impacts shatter the plastic. And so, this is what I dealt with on a very hot day. Suffice it to say, I ended up screaming a good number of expletives. Fortunately, it was just the cats and me in the house at the time.

Fast forward a few days. I had been forced to abandon the project temporarily since I had to fly off to a faraway land and be that author type guy for a bit. Upon my return, I was sitting in the office one evening – remember the office right across from the bedroom?

Well, anyway, E K had taken up the task of installing the rest of the quarter round. As I answered email I listened. From the other room I heard:

tap… tap… TAP… TAP! Clatter! Grumble Grumble… Sigh…

Saw Saw Saw…

tap… tap… TAP… TAP! Clatter! Grumble Grumble… Sigh…

Saw Saw Saw…

tap… tap… TAP… TAP! Clatter! Grumble Grumble… Sigh…

Saw… Saw… Saw… tap… tap… TAP… TAP! Clatter! DAMMIT!

I chuckled, which probably wasn’t a good idea given that I was chuckling at The Evil Redhead herself, then I said, “Now you sound like I did the other day.”

Without missing a beat, the O-spring chirped, “But I bet you used the word that starts with F.”

Kids. You just can’t fool ’em, can you?

More to come…

Murv