Our Mother-Flippin’ Rental

August 16, 2012

in After The Honeymoon, Cheap Expectations

For those of you not fortunate enough to be on the receiving end of my panicked emails, you should probably know two things:

  • We’ve moved.
  • Into the flip from hell.

The Big Man and I were once a fan of those Sunday morning “Flip This House”/”Fixer Uppers R Us” shows.

Yes, I know they technically aired on Saturday evenings, but what can I say? We were too busy getting to know the business end of our pillows to actually catch them the first time around.

We’d curl up with our bowls of Mini Wheats, our laptops keeping us cozy, and settle in for a long winter’s morning of watching other people steadfastly refuse to make a budget, give up on a budget, and keep to that budget while simultaneously engaging in on-the-job self-training in such things as how to install your own toilet, tile, and tub in less time than it takes your first perspective buyer to walk through the door.

Quite frankly, I smelled a rat.

I mean, really, the man was usually a dentist. Or a carpenter. Sure he could build a bridge, but what the hell did he know about screwing in a light bulb? In my entire college career, not once did anyone show me how to re-screen my windows or replace my peep hole.

Not that I didn’t have offers on that last one… Bah-dum-Dum!

But I just assumed that, barring an undisclosed A in home ec, they must have been getting extra coaching from at least a few of the producers during commercial breaks.

And while there was a time that the Big Man dreamed of secretly producing his own “fixer upper” home video, by the time we’d gotten up to fix lunch, he usually had come to the conclusion that, perhaps, a move-in-ready home was more my our speed.

And then we moved here.

To a place I’m fairly certain was originally built to be a fixer-upper even before it was home to an illegal pet/daycare run by a woman whose idea of cleaning the oven must have meant spraying Pam in it. There hasn’t been a wall without a mark, gouge, or badly spot-painted patch job, an un-rusted, filth-free vent, or a non-sticky cabinet door to be found in this entire place, or a single appliance not in need of cleaning/fixing/replacing in the entire thousand square feet of pink-stained carpet.

It was enough to make me cry.

Which I did. Until I was informed that the shower was more of an amphitheater than an insulator….

And then the Big Man stepped in.

I’m not sure if it was all those pre-child Sunday mornings of house hunting/flipping/selling, his ancient A in home ec eons ago, or just some innate, genetic pre-disposition to being able to take a look at something and instinctively just know how to fix it, but the Big Man? Knows how to fix shit.

Like, all of it.

He’s re-fitted the screens on our windows. Replaced the peep hole and weather-stripping in our front door. Outfitted the house with a security system. Replaced bathtub drains, fixed over-flowing toilets, stained and fitted those little round wooden plug thingys that cover the nails in our bannisters. Nailed down the carpet. Negotiated for a new kitchen appliances, and made friends with our neighbors. All while landing a new job AND laying the ground work for opening his own business in December.

I? Spent a solid hour cleaning just the inside of the oven. And then promptly baked some cookies. Because my response to things like broken washing machines is to take one look, and figure out who to call. And then bake that man some cookies.

Fortunately for both of us, the Big Man likes my cookies.

{ 1 comment }

NSC August 17, 2012 at 8:50 am

SO nice when they fix things. My trouble is getting DH to get around to fixing the items I consider necessary.

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