My husband, Chris is finally coming to the realization that he’s not as handy around the house as he once made himself out to be. Every time something would go wrong with a small appliance or if a minor repair job materialized, he would scoff, “Oh I can do that – that’s simple to fix.”

But funny enough – those simple things never got fixed. Or more accurately, they stayed broken a long time until he finally admitted that he wasn’t going to get around to it and I should just call the plumber/repair man/contractor.

Sometimes he would attempt to fix something but lose steam after a trip to Home Depot to buy the necessary materials. My favorite example of this is “the rock.” A couple of years ago, he decided that we needed to fill the gaping hole that was starting to develop under our cement front steps. It began as somewhat of a crack that was there when we first bought the house in 2006, but after two years, it was getting noticeably wider. Apparently, this fell under the DIY label for Chris, and he said he would take care of it himself.

Knowing nothing about this kind of thing, I gave him my usual, “okay,” and promptly forgot about it altogether. A week or so later though, he came home with a big bag of cement claiming that he would get started on the project that very weekend. Unfortunately, it was rainy, so the bag of cement stayed out on our back deck. (You can see where I’m going with this…) And within a few short days it solidified into a completely unusable rock.

And of course, time passed and other priorities got in the way, and the bag of cement was largely ignored. But in Chris’ defense, it had become invisible as most of his unfinished projects (and dirty clothes on the floor and piles of papers on every surface and crumbs all over the kitchen counter…) are wont to do. So we lived with the solid bag of cement on our deck for a while.

One day I stubbed my toe on it though and went storming into the house to ask my husband what he planned to do with the boulder wrapped in paper that we had been pretending not to see for a year. He promised that he would remove it by the next trash day, but then the excuses started. It was really heavy and he’d need to borrow a dolly to transport it…he wasn’t sure if he could actually put it out with the trash since it was so heavy…he needed to find a dumpster where he could deposit it.

But after a while, I just couldn’t take it any longer (as I am wont to do) and decided that I would at the very least, get it off of my deck.

The first thing I did was try to drag it. But when I grabbed the end of the paper sack, it ripped right off. A fiber once strong enough to hold the amount of dry cement necessary to replace a significant portion of our front steps was now so degraded by the elements, that it hung as weightless as tissue paper in my outstretched hands.

For some reason this enraged me – the indisputable proof of the amount of time that bag sat around without anyone thinking to do something about it. And I became even more committed to my mission. I would get that rock off my property if it killed me.

Luckily, I didn’t have to die on principle. Instead I decided that the rectangular slab could probably be lifted end over end and slowly pseudo-rolled out the back gate. This process took some time, but I did it. And the rock was finally out of my life. Or at least, it was out of my line of sight. It now gathers moss in the grass outside our back fence.

This is just one tale in the epic story Chris’ attempts to be handy around the house. Some are minor, many are comical but few are ever seen through to completion. Which is why he has finally admitted that he is worthless when it comes to home projects. Whether it’s an issue of him not having the skill or not having the attention span – it’s just not worth it for him to bother trying. He’s always meant well, and they say that it’s the thought that counts…but after 10 years of unfinished projects, I beg to differ.

Which is why Chris recently enlisted the help of friend who moonlights as a contractor to replace our rotting back deck. And he had no problem acknowledging that he would be nothing more than a manual labor assistant performing simple tasks as instructed.

Unfortunately, in the process of one of the MOST simple tasks, unloading the lumber, Chris was injured. We’re not sure whether the wood was loaded incorrectly or if it just shifted during transport, but when they opened the back gate of the truck, it all came sliding out and landed directly on Chris’ foot.

Several hours, one ambulance ride, a few x-rays and 11 stitches later, we left the hospital and picked up a much needed prescription for pain killers. Chris would have to be on crutches for at least two weeks and while his foot wasn’t broken, it would take a long time for it to recover from that trauma.

OF COURSE, this all happened two weeks before a large annual conference that he personally runs. And when it came time to pack his bag, I found a great opportunity to crucify him for YEARS of DIY hubris. It occurred to me that he really didn’t need to bring any of his left shoes since his foot was far too swollen for anything sturdier than a tube sock. And I had a good long laugh about how he could pack twice as much footwear, conjured up images of a hopping Lowly Worm from the Richard Scarry books and made up shoe-related conversations we could have about his suitcase:

Kate: Are you sure your bag isn’t too heavy? Your shoes will add a lot of weight…

Chris: No – it should be fine. I’m going to wear my cowboy boot on the plane.

Now I realize that there are plenty of people out there without one of their feet who don’t wear a prosthesis and only require one shoe… But if I was going to be all PC about it, then I wouldn’t have the fun of rolling around on the floor laughing at his expense. And I’m kidding about rolling around on the floor of course. It was on the bed, as I don’t vacuum as often as I should.

I know I sound somewhat mean spirited, but you have to realize that I have rarely given him a hard time about anything like this. In fact, when we were in the emergency room, the doctor stitching up his foot alluded to the many times he “got in trouble” for attempting home projects instead of hiring someone who knew what they were doing. And it was like a lightning bolt hit me. I never even realized that was an option. I could actually be annoyed with him for being stupid. Amazing!

So if a little derision over his one shoe status is all he has had to put up with from me…well I think that’s fair enough. And I couldn’t seriously be mad about his refusal to give it up already all these years. Being the “man of the house,” is an iconic role that runs deep in the male half of the species. There is a good amount of pride tied up in protecting and providing for your family. And even if it ultimately mystifies me – I have to respect his daily struggle to live up to his own overly high expectations. I’ve always tried to see things from the other person’s point of view – so why would I deny that courtesy to my own husband? I figure it’s only fair to put myself in his shoe (omission of the “s” absolutely intentional) on this one.

The good news is that I don’t think we’ll be seeing many do it yourself construction projects in our future. We try to be glass half full people. To look for the silver lining and to learn from our mistakes. And as far as I’m concerned, the lesson here was loud and clear: people who wear flip flops while unloading lumber should hire professionals.