A Difference of Opinion
Anyone who’s been married for more than thirty seconds knows that spouses sometimes disagree.
The Hubster and I are no different than any other couple in this respect, especially when it comes to projects around the house. A fine example is the very different reactions to the front porch issue I discovered in March.
We did get the porch rebuilt.
We even lived to tell about it, and no one shot framing nails at anyone else. I have to admit, though, I seriously seriously considered it.
I never expected after that experience that something as simple as this…
…could inspire another heated marital exchange.
But it did.
I must digress….
This weekend, while The Hubster was off deep sea fishing with some buddies and between my trips to the pool with the kids, I gathered all the stuff I’d need to pour the new concrete pad for the new brick steps that are going in at the end of this week.
The old ones didn’t survive our attempt to move them, which says a lot more about our home’s previous owner’s masonry skills than our moving skills. All I’ll say on the subject is that broken brick pieces and concrete block pieces are not the proper internal structure for masonry work.
I held the misconception that I’d get the pad poured while The Hubster was gone, but that didn’t happen due to the fact that the kids and I moved into the community pool for the weekend. Can you say raisin?
So Sunday afternoon The Hubster arrived home to discover a 2×4, several pieces of rebar and rebar ties, wire mesh, and three 80 pound bags of concrete on our front lawn.
The following marital exchange then ensued.
HUB: You’re not pouring a garage floor.
ME: I know.
HUB: So why’d you get all this crap?
ME: Because that’s what you need to pour a concrete pad.
HUB: Yeah, if it’s going to be above ground. This is going to be in the dirt. You’re not even going to see it.
ME: It doesn’t matter if we’re not going to see it. There’s a right way and a wrong way to do this. We need to do it the right way.
HUB: The brick mason said he just pours a couple of bags of concrete out, adds some water, and lets it set up.
ME: I don’t care what the brick mason said. The brick mason doesn’t live here. We live here.
HUB: If I’m going to do it, I’m going to do it the way he said.
ME: Did I ask you to do it? I reckon if I can get all the material, I can pour the damn pad. I did the footers so I think I can handle the pad.
I lost my cool a little.
Okay…well maybe more than a little.
Fortunately the kids and I had to leave to go to vacation Bible school before The Hubster or I broke out the framing nailer.
And we arrived home to discover this…
Yes, The Hubster had poured the pad. He even took pictures with his camera phone showing the rebar and the wire mesh installed inside the form. He also took several pictures of the bubbles in the level he used when he staked the form into the ground.
I had to laugh.
Don’t think for a single moment that he did it because he realized I was right.
He did it because he knew that I’d talk trash if he didn’t.
And I’d talk trash for the next fifty years or so.
And he figured that an hour’s worth of work was a small price to pay to avoid trash talk for the rest of his life.
He gets smarter and smarter the longer we’re married.
The best part about his concrete job?
Even though it’s going to be in the dirt, even though the brick will cover the pad, he took the time to personalize our pad…
…with our kids’ names.
There’s a reason why I love that man.
And why I don’t shoot framing nails at him.