And we’re back looking at tile

Cro Magnon is upset.

“You don’t care, do you?” he asks me. “You know you could come over to the house to see all the work I’ve been doing. But you won’t. Because you don’t care.”

I don’t.

So I say, “no, I don’t care.”

I paid my dues. I went to Home Depot. Or Lowes. Whatever.

Ugh. “Fine,” I tell him. “Let’s go look at all the work you’ve been doing.”

We drive over to his rental to look at “all the work he’s been doing.”

We walk in the door. “See this? I painted the door,” he says.

I look at the door. “The door looks good,” is all I can think to say.

We walk into the living room. “I painted the living room,” he says.

I look at the living room. “Yes,” I say.

We walk into the dining room. Same deal. More paint. Yup. Yup. Yup.

Then we get into the kitchen. “Wait til you see this. You’ll flip,” he says.

I doubt it.

“Look at this kitchen,” he says.

I look at the kitchen. I turn around slowly for emphasis. Looking at everything as hard as I can. Yup. Yup. Yup.

“Wow.” I say.

He’s nodding, “What did I tell ya?” Then he starts talking about how he ripped out the cabinets and painted them and painted them again and sanded them and painted them again. I sort of want to ask why bother sanding them if you have to a paint them again, but I don’t. I don’t want to hear why.

He shows me the light fixture (it’s a nipple fixture, I knew it). He turns on the light to show me how it works. Duh. “Boy that’s a lotta light,” I say. Feeling stupid.

“Look at that floor,” he says. I look at the floor. Really hard. I nod to show that a) I am really looking at the floor and b) I am getting the impact of what this floor is (duh, it’s a floor).

“You see that tile?” (Oh no, not the tile again). “That tile took….” (I don’t know what he said, because I’ve tuned out. When he’s done talking, I start listening again.

“Okay we can go,” he says.

Yay.

 

 

Why do I have homework?

It’s a Monday night. I’ve just come home from work when 15 comes into the kitchen where I’m slapping together some sandwiches for dinner.

“Mom. You have homework,” he says.

“Wait, what?”

“I’ve got a form for you to fill out. It’s for health class,” he says.

Oh sh–. In a past post, I’ve blogged about how I hate filling out papers for health class, which gently remind me of all the “unhealthy” habits I have.

“What are some of the questions?” I ask. Because I’m going to need some time to come up with some lies.

“Well, the first one asks, ‘what are three things that cause you stress?” He smiles. Because he knows what I’m going to say.

“Um. Let’s see, you, your sister and your father – he talks to me while I blog.”

15 laughs.

After dinner, I sit down to do my “homework.”

Three stresses? Kids fighting. Messy house. Aging.

Pretty good.

Next question, “What do you do to relieve stress?”

Oh sh–.

I can’t write “Bota Box.” So instead, I put “weed the garden, walk the dog, go for long hikes.” And it’s true. I just leave off the part about the Bota Box.

Then it gets into what causes stress for teens. And what can they do to ease that stress. And again, I can’t write what I want, which is “kill the f—ing cellphones and the video games and get the f—  outside.” Because that would make me sound hostile. And violent.

So I just say, “get outdoors, do some gardening, chop some wood.” For real.

Next question: “How can parents help their teens deal with bullying?”

So I ask Cro Magnon. Which is, of course, a bad idea.

I’m definitely not going to write what he said.

 

 

 

Weight, what?

At least four pounds, right? 

Monday morning. Cro Magnon goes into the basement where we keep our medical scale. I’m in the basement pulling clothes out of the dryer. He gets on the scale. He’s sliding the weights into place. Then I hear it.

“You fat f—!”

I go upstairs. Cro Magnon is drinking coffee watching the morning news.

“What happened there?” I ask him. Smiling.

“I’m fat.” he says.

“Was that number what I think it was?”

“Actually, it was less,” he says without saying what “the number” is. “I was wearing these,” he says, gripping his sweatpants.

“Well, that’s at least four pounds,” I say. “You’re supposed to weigh yourself naked. I always subtract poundage for clothes,” I say, helpfully.

“You know what it was? I know what it was,” he says. “It’s global warming.”

“What?” I ask.

“Global warming,” he says. “It’s affecting the gravitational pull on my body…”

I’m dumbfounded.

“It’s true,” he says.

Think I’ll use that one too.

 

 

 

 

I’m yelling timber

I just realized I spelled Lowes wrong. It’s not Loews. Sorry y’all. Just shows you how much I know. Anyway, we’re back in the tile aisle.

“What color grout should I get?” Cro Magnon asks.

How the hell should I know? And why should I care? But I don’t say that.

“A neutral color,” I say. Because I don’t know what I’m talking about.

“What’s a neutral color?” he asks.

Lord.

“I dunno. Gray, beige, tan, off-white…” Then I think of the switchplates – they were labeled “almond.” I’m feeling pretty smart.

“How about almond?” I say.

Cro Magnon just looks at me. “They don’t make it in ‘almond,’ genius.”

He’s getting annoyed. I start to enjoy it.

“How about pink?” I say.

Just kidding. I didn’t really say that. I’ll take it only so far. But I really don’t want to think about grout. So I tell him to ask “the guy.”

He goes over to a Lowes store associate and asks what kind of grout he should get. Then they start talking about other things related to tile, grout, what-not and I have to tune out. The question turns into a  looong conversation. In Lowes.

I’m sooo bored.

But after a while, it endsand we head to the cash register. Cro Magnon stops and heads in the opposite direction. Please, God.

“I need some screws,” he says.

I’m screwed.

We go over to the screw/nail/bolt aisle and look at boxes of blue, yellow and orange screws. All in different sizes… I’m thinking, “what a waste of time… can’t they just make one?”

But noooo. More screws mean more fill up of aisle space.

And more time wasted looking for the right screw.

To be continued…

 

 

Home Depot hell, or maybe it’s Loews

So. We’re still in Home Depot. Or Loews. Whatever.

Cro Magnon says we need a cart. A cart in Home Depot/Loews is not like the shopping cart you find at Marshalls. It’s a humongous blue iron thing. It is ergonomically incorrect. Without handles. It has bars that are meant to hold large pieces of things like drywall or backer board or whatever that stuff is that you put under a countertop when installing new countertop. (I don’t see why you need to put that stuff under a countertop. Isn’t that what a countertop is? Why not just save yourself the trouble – and money – and just throw countertop on top – see how it works? – on top of the applicances? Just sayin’.)

So we get a cart. It is very heavy. Cro Magnon chooses a gray bag of grout – or sand – I don’t know which – and loads it onto the cart. I place the bags of switchplates on top). Then we head back to the tile aisle.

More fun. …

(I have to get off now. 12 needs to use the computer for French homework. Maybe someday I’ll blog like a normal person.)

Back later.

I’m in hell… oh, wait, it’s Home Depot

Cro Magnon has a project for me.

Eye roll.

“I’ve got a project for you,” he tells me Sunday morning over coffee. “I want you to come with me to pick out tile for the kitchen.”

Without revealing too much, Cro Magnon is a house guy. That is his occupation. Sometimes, house guy has things to do, like paint a whole house or apartment, buy a new refrigerator or stove, pave a drive way, that kind of thing. This time, he has to re-do a kitchen. New floors, countertops, cabinets, the whole nine yards.He’s really into it. He leaves little pieces of paper all over the house with scribbles illustrating square footage of the kitchen..

I keep throwing them away. Because it’s messy. This frustrates Cro Magnon.

Most of the time, I don’t have to get involved with house stuff. So, when Cro Magnon tells me he wants my opinion (that’s nice) on what he’s doing with the kitchen renovation in his new apartment, I’m flattered, but not really into it. He starts talking about the project. If I’ve got about 100 square feet of space in the kitchen, how many floor tiles do I need if I’m getting the 12-inch floor tiles.

Ugh. Like middle school math. I tune out to his talking immediately.

He figures it out- out loud. And then, “Wait til you see these cabinets. Wait til you see these floors. We have to go to Home Depot and figure out what kind of backsplash to get.”

Ok.

So we drive to Home Depot. But Cro Magnon changes his mind. “I like Loews better, don’t you?” he says.

I don’t care. Any place that has aisles of lumber and nails and saws doesn’t interest me.

So we go to Loews. Cro Magnon heads for the lighting aisle. I’m mildly interested because I start thinking about things we could put in our own kitchen.

“What do you think of this one?” he asks.

Cro Magnon is pointing to a light fixture that my little sister refers to as a “nipple fixture.” Because that’s what it looks like. (Her hub- Cro Minion – is an electrician.). I can’t get this out of my head. So I tell Cro Magnon – I don’t like it. It looks like a nipple.

“What about this one.”

But I’m gone. I’m looking at fixtures for our own kitchen. “Look, that one’s only $250. And that one’s $159.”

“That’s sh–.” Cro Magnon says.

Shut down.

I tell Cro Magnon that he needs to bring Cro Minon to this area to discuss lighting. I am the wrong person for the job.

“We need switchplates.”

Not how I want to spend my Sunday.

Cro Magnon picks up a switchplate, “is this tan?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I say, “what does the package say?”

“It doesn’t say anything,” he says.

“I guess so, tan enough.” I say.

But I don’t like the tan. I like the white. It looks cleaner. Only Cro Magnon says we can’t get white because it won’t go with the walls. But I find “almond” and Cro Magnon likes that better. It’s not white and it’s not tan. It’s very neutral. Cro Magnon is pleased. I’m getting good at this.

We get to leave the switchplate aisle. Thank God.

Now we’re in the tile aisle. There are bags of mortar in it.

Not fun.

If I were my other sister, I’d be in heaven. She loves this kind of thing. She and her hub do things like this all the time together.

But not me. I just want things done, so I can make and bake in the kitchen.

to be continued…