I was reminded early on a recent Saturday (that is, my wife highlighted for me) of my shortcomings in the household maintenance department. Specifically, around 8:00 in the morning, we recognized a persistent beeping noise coming from somewhere in the house. I dutifully arose, and believing the sound to be emanating from one of our many smoke detectors, attempted to locate the source of the beeps.
I pinpointed the beeps to a smoke detector located just outside a bedroom door, and retrieved a step-stool, which was just tall enough for me to unscrew the device and pull it down from the ceiling. I removed the battery, and placed it on the counter, with the intention of returning to bed (again, it was a Saturday - don’t judge me), and replacing the battery later, after awakening.
While preparing to return to bed, the beeping continued, only it wasn’t coming from the device in my hand - the sound was in the area of the bedroom door. I stepped back to the doorway, this time peeking into the bedroom, and, looking up to the ceiling, noted a second device, this one perhaps a radon detector, or carbon monoxide detector, or a meerkat infestation detector, or any one of a number of detectors required to be installed in today’s homes by the “National Association of Realtors (see that “R” symbol, placed just below this paragraph? I’m not smart enough, or this content management system isn’t robust enough for me to place it where it belongs: right next to the word, “Realtors.” Because, you see, the registered trademark symbol is intended to signify the extensive training and code of ethics attributed to the many professional men and women who toil as realtors. Ed. note: Sarcasm alert! - unofficial motto: “We’re not just doing this as a hobby - this is our job. . .although, in fairness, we really don’t add any value to this transaction, and in many cases, simply add needless cost and complexity.”
So, I mounted a second summit expedition, this time attempting to remove the actual offending device. The step-stool was just tall enough to allow me to unscrew it from the ceiling, but this device came with an added level of difficulty, requiring that I unplug a firmly implanted cord before detaching the device completely from the ceiling; gaining the proper leverage to accomplish this task was quite a challenge. I was finally able to bring the device down to earth, and removed the battery. However, the beeping persisted - damn those ridiculous safeguards included to alert homeowners to potential smoke, or radon, or carbon monoxide, or meerkats!
So, I determined to replace the battery, re-secure the devices in the ceiling and solve the problem right then and there. Otherwise, I couldn’t climb back into bed, because, you know, that infernal beeping. Replacing the batteries was relatively easy, but reattaching the devices to the ceiling proved to be insurmountable, given the step-stool gap. My wife helpfully suggested that I retrieve the stepladder from the garage, and use that to gain the leverage I required. She even laid out a beach towel on the ground, which only served to confuse me - were we going to have a picnic breakfast?
In any event, I finally completed the job, and eliminated the beeping, grousing about it the entire time. When questioned why I was so surly, I retorted, “I’m exhausted, and it’s the middle of the night!” Now, had I persisted with this line of reasoning, and ended up in a Pennsylvania District Court on this issue, this case would no doubt have been thrown out of court due to a lack of evidence, and for pressing a specious argument, because it was, you know, 8:00 in the morning. And, the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania has had significant recent experience rejecting such baseless claims; what’s one more case to consign to the trash-heap of ridiculous and frivolous court filings?
This experience caused me to reflect upon the division of labor required to manage any household. Such allocation of responsibilities happen organically, and generally play to a partner’s expertise. In our household, my wife typically manages such core tasks as: cooking (although a significant portion of our dining is now outsourced), interior cleaning, ironing, grocery-shopping, gift-buying, and interior decorating.
My responsibilities have typically included: paying bills (I am, after all, a classically-trained accountant), ensuring a proper level of salt in the water softener, troubleshooting electronics issues, such as wi-fi, and computer issues, and exterior maintenance including raking leaves, shoveling snow, and managing outdoor planting; I’m justifiably proud of roses I have grown over the years - I particularly like rose blooms in September in the Midwest - they are spectacular!
And, back in the days before we owned a refrigerator with a built-in ice-maker (oh, the hardships we endured!), it was my responsibility to maintain a steady supply of ice cubes, and to refill the ice-trays. In fact, I must have oversold my expertise with this particular role, such that, one of my sons proudly reported to his second-grade class, on career day, that his father refilled ice trays. Don’t get me wrong, being an iceman was, once upon a time, a noble profession, and I would have stood tall had I chosen that career-path. But, by the time I was charting my climb up the ladder of success, that role had all but disappeared. I do remember milkmen still in the mix when I was growing up in the 1960’s, but they weren’t long for the world at that point, either.
Problems can be encountered in household task management when a chore appears in the gray area, for which neither partner is particularly well-suited. Say, driveway resurfacing, or electrical wiring, or interior painting. We’ve come to terms, apparently, with the fact of my incompetence on many, many fronts (maybe there was a vote taken, when I was absent from the chamber, and the vote was unanimous - there is a “Freedom of Information Act (FOIA)” request pending for these voting records, in order that I can examine them for voting irregularities), and we’ve logically resolved to turn to competent professionals to perform this work on our behalf. Unfortunately, this results in paying a premium for completion of some fairly simple household tasks, which yields a reduction in our budget for such necessities as “Scotch and popcorn,” which is an actual line-item in our household budget.
I believe there are three critical elements which have negatively affected my household task performance rating:
Lack of proper tools - I have been reluctant to run out to Home Depot (more on that later) to purchase every last one of the obscure household tools mandated for use by instructions attached to new or replacement items - e.g. “Set your honing guide to seven, and apply gentle pressure to the unit; after ensuring a clean and dry surface, use your hydraulic torque wrench to adjust item 12, such that your cartridge puller will easily remove all excess sludge from the Nordic plank screws - feel free to deploy your inflatable shim, if necessary.” Ed. note: All of these tools are actual tools, with the exception of, “Nordic plank screws” - I made up that one. My objection to buying these tools is that they can be costly, and will likely sit, unused, in my toolbox, for years afterward (Hey, don’t be so surprised that I own a toolbox - I may not know what to do with most of the items contained in that toolbox, but I proudly own one. . .I think).
Lack of proper project scheduling - Most of the minor household projects I have attempted have been initiated late on a Sunday afternoon, which doesn’t allow enough time for the inevitable multiple trips to Home Depot, firstly, to purchase the incorrect materials, a followup trip to exchange those items for the proper materials, and a final trip, to replace the proper materials, which have been damaged due to improper installation. Let’s face it, weekends slip away from us, due to investing time in watching football games, basketball games, and golf, and, . . .well, that’s about it.
Lack of proper genes - This characteristic may be the most critical “missing link” - perhaps the genetic attribute of being handy skips twelve generations? My dad was not the handiest guy around, and I don’t believe his father, or his father, were either. There is some evidence that the next generation is the one to break this cycle - my eldest son appears ready to tackle household tasks, which I wouldn’t even think of considering, including installing kitchen appliances, and building snow-making machines from scratch (as a youngster). His secret: YouTube videos - you can learn to do anything from YouTube videos.
So, if you are considering tackling a household improvement project in the near future, I trust that I’ve made it clear that your single phone call should not be placed to me, it should be placed to a competent third-party (assuming you’re willing to forego some of your “Scotch and popcorn” money), or simply turn your attention to YouTube for advice (just try to avoid the cat videos).