Large hole in the ceiling strikes a note of discord

Me, Myself... as Mommy.
This hole was opened up in an area of Meg Sanders’ ceiling shortly after she and her husband moved...
Photo courtesy Meg Sanders
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Four years ago Brian gave me the most beautiful housewarming gift when we moved into our home — beautiful, if you’re Saddam Hussein looking for a gaping hole looking to hide in. After unloading a few boxes, a bed, the hand-me-down couch and TV we had collected in our first few years of marriage, we put up our feet to watch some television.

It was then I realized the roof overhead was a bit concaved. Brian poked a hole into the sheet rock and two gallons of water came spilling out (ironic because I gave birth a week later).

In my dream, Brian immediately fixed the leak and patched the hole, and it was as if the waterfall behind our bathroom wall never happened. In reality, the hole is still there. Each year at Christmas, we decorate our hole with lights, ornaments and garland.

Being able to look up and see the sewer pipe running through our house always puts me in a festive mood. We celebrate the birth of “our hole” the same time we celebrate Scarlett’s birth.

Currently, my honey-do list is up to 16 items, ranging from “sandbox” to “fix motorcycle brake”; nowhere do you see the words “patch hole.” I’ve really turned up the heat these last few weeks to get our hole finished, as I’d like to host a big bash for his 30th birthday party without explaining to everyone why you can hear each time the toilet is flushed.

When I badger him about our hole, Brian often answers back with a spouse’s No. 1 answer: “I just don’t have time.” I offered to pack up the children and hightail it to my sister’s place in Denver for a week in hopes of giving him ample time to complete the items on the list, but I worry it would be unfair for me to vacation while he works.

How do I make my priorities his priorities? I’m sure that even at the beginning of time a Neanderthal asked his/her spouse to patch an eroded hole in the cave only to be ignored in order for said spouse to chisel primal shapes into the wall.

What’s more, how did I become so useless? I can’t fix anything. Intimidation sets in seconds after I realize the list of tools I may need to take over Brian’s list of chores. Simple fixes around the house get done with just a bit of wood glue or duct tape, but actual tasks involving tools freak me out.

Most ladies have no problem picking up a hammer, caulking gun or belt sanders — Pinterest is a testament to this — it’s just my complete lack of knowledge that keeps me from doing the DIY projects. My sister is the queen of DIY projects around the home, never afraid to jump in and tile, paint or stain some piece of furniture in her house. I suppose she could give me lessons, but she once tried to teach me the piano, which just ended with tears.

If there’s any chance of our hole getting covered, I’m going to need to take on some of those 16 tasks posted up inside the garage.

Change is the one constant in our lives: new furniture, children, jobs, wrinkles. “Our hole” is something we can always count on to remain the same.

Somehow I need to find the motivation to motivate Brian into home repairs. Maybe my half-baked attempts at a Do-It-Herself list that could result in even more damage could be just the thing to light that fire.

Then again, maybe I could find a bearded homeless man to come live inside “our hole”…

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