I have spent the summer obsessed with my two cute little-- ON SALE!!—sheds. I have sweated, literally and metaphorically—all the details of shed building. I have relied on the brains and brawn of my Sweetie to the point he has mused aloud about the (future) wisdom of only dating women who live in condos.
I have been blessed with neighbors who loan tools—look Ma! It’s a pneumatic nail gun!
I have a generous friend who invented a jig to –with only moderate risk to life and limb—roof my ridiculously steep roof. And then he roofed it.
I have utilized every tool at my disposal and have purchased new tools when needed. Look Ma! It’s a staple hammer!
Then I remembered that I had one long term investment that I hadn’t yet called on: my children. Look Ma! I’m a mom! I’ll get the kids to do it!
Just kidding. I only had my kids because I wanted someone to unload the dishwasher who wasn’t me.
When my boys were small, they were convinced this is why I gave them life—to listen to them sigh and complain for twenty minutes doing something I could have done in three. (I know because I’ve timed myself. The sighing, not the unloading.)
I sent a text to my Best Beloveds, asking for anytime they could spare. Beth and Cameron came and helped frame, sheet, and stand the walls for Shed One and later, built the floor for Shed Two. Jordan and Devin came one fine Saturday in early September and quickly assembled Shed Two from all the parts I had pre-painted (in an ill-conceived effort to keep up with My Own Personal Jones’) and that Mark had pre-assembled. In about four hours—including lunch-- we went from floor to full shed. All that remained was the roofing.
And the trim.
And the two coats of paint that the shed warranty requires.
I’m left wondering why I didn’t have more kids...I’m guessing it was the price of shoes.
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