Gaining Confidence

I don't know how I missed out on confidence in doing simple household tasks. Oh, I'm not talking about baking bread or frosting a cake. Those things I love to do! (You do not need a bread maker, by the way, to make bread.) I am not even talking about things like scrubbing grout or wiping off walls. I suspect I'm not a very good housekeeper, but I can do it. It is just a question of forcing myself to get it done.

No, I am talking about things like hanging pictures, washing the outside of double hung windows that flip into the house, using a cordless drills, gardening, and even painting. Somehow I missed out on the training that prepares one for those tasks. My sister somehow was trained, as I learned when she visited me in Wisconsin, several years ago. She and my mom are the masters of home improvement around 175 Water Street. My dad has many admirable skills, but the desire to complete home repairs is not one of them. So anyways, Joanna and mom are the experts, a bond that was forged after I left for college, I think.

My liberal arts education did not offer a course in basic home skills, a course obviously lacking if you are seeking your MRS degree. Or perhaps, the MRS degree provides a husband, who, in theory, would be capable of doing some of these things. And living in on-campus housing wasn't exactly a place to hone these skills as an independent young adult, either. There is a reason I know how to bake bread but not use a cordless drill! I think the fine for a hole in the wall was instant death by RA, who just happened to be my roommate.

So somehow, I graduated from college and got married without learning these skills. And then marrying Dan just let me piggyback on his skills. Mr. Handy, he just knew how to do those things, even the chores that he despises. In our first apartment in Belfast, he hung the pictures on the walls and led the painting of our room a horrible color called asparagus. (The choice of the paint was the fault of both of us. It was an atrocious color!) He amazes me anew every so often with his competence with power tools. I have tons of respect for his capabilities in this area! He worked in a nursery in high school, so he has way more knowledge of gardening than I, and it probably goes without saying that he can use a cordless drill. (He can even do caulking and plumbing and basic electrical wiring! The list could go on and on.)

Since our first apartment, we've moved a couple of times, but each time I've managed to get someone else to do the moving-in items that I haven't been confident to attempt on my own. But with this move, we are home owners. I don't have to stress about a landlord yelling at me for messing something up. I'm also home all day long, which Dan is not. Surprisingly, he doesn't always feel like helping me nest after a full day of work. Weird, right?

So, I'm preparing myself for the challenge. Part of me is yelling "GIRL POWER," but that's really kind of lame. Women everywhere have had to hang up their own pictures on the walls and figure out how to flip the windows inside to wash them (way easier than dragging a ladder outside to wash them if you don't have the flip kind of windows). These are just life skills, at least for someone who cares about their living environment. Sometimes I choose to believe that some people are just handy -- Dan, his sister Kristy, who will tackle anything (dryer broken? I can fix that!), my sister. And sometimes I get overwhelmed by the scads of information available on the internet. (Just look up washing windows if you want to read a million opinions on how to get it done.)

But today, I refused to sit around sulking while Dan enjoyed a well-deserved morning of mountain biking. I grabbed the hammer and the picture hanging kit, the measuring tape and the five frames I wanted to hang in the nursery, laid them out, and jumped in. You know what? Five frames are hanging neatly above the glider. Only one picture had to be readjusted. And I am one step closer to being more competent around the house.

Here's to trying something you aren't confident in! It just might turn out better than you think.

Our Gracious Host

On January 9, 2010, before 6 a.m., Dan and I bid adieu to Williams Bay, Wisconsin. The car was crammed with our earthly possessions, absolutely jam packed. The car was so full, germs had to sign up on a waiting list to get in. I had lampshades on my lamp, food at my feet, toiletries filling the empty space between my right thigh and the car door, and Dan and I both rested our elbows on the pillow that was between us. I slept as to forget how uncomfortable I was.

Anyways, we made it to Pennsylvania without incident, and after spending one night with Dan's parents, we began the arduous process of moving in. No apartment for us, not a farmhouse surrounded by cornfields: this time we are bunking with Dan's Gram, qualifying us in many ways as people hit by the recession. (There's a commercial about what people are doing to cut back: living with my parents, eating less meat, becoming a one car family. Check, check, check!) But really, we're absolutely blessed to be living with Gram, besides the obvious economical benefits.

Gram is gracious, funny, and growing older. She benefits from a little help in the kitchen and the company that we provide. She often wears a gray-purple hat, much to the family's annoyance, always offers to bring ice cream to family functions, and likes her fair share of salt on, well, everything. One day I witnessed her butter her wheat-thins; it must be a generational thing to butter one's crackers.

I'm also teaching Gram how to use the computer. We've gotten her an email account and she is beginning to get the gist of how to reply to emails. The computer is still a great mystery to her, but I'm impressed that she has the gumption to try. Today she received an e-card, much to her delight, that she chuckled at the entire time it played.

I am learning that growing old, elegantly, is a lofty goal. It takes style, a relaxed attitude, and a good bit of humor. My own grandmothers display a good bit of pizazz, and getting to know Dan's gram is another example of how aging can be beautiful. Spending time with Gram sometimes makes me roll my eyes, and other times smile so hard that my cheeks are sore. My favorite part? That she will ask Dan, when he is giving her grief, "Do you like where you're sleeping?"

And to that, I laugh and say, "Oh, Gram."