July 10 Editorial

In every household a little dirt and disaster must fall, but my house seems more like it’s had a visit from a bull in a china shop. Some people spend their days cleaning up the messes of their children. I spend my days cleaning up the messes of my husband.
This week, I learned the valuable lesson that no matter how old he gets, my man will always need full time supervision. With that being said, I’ll take you back to disaster number one of the week.
It was nearing midnight, and our three crazy dogs were insistent that we take them for a walk before bed. Knowing their track record of keeping me up all night if not properly exercised, we decided that these night owls were going for a stroll. The last time we took a late night walk, we encountered a strange young man who said nothing and wandered aimlessly around the neighborhood, spooking me a bit, so my husband asked, “Should we take the pistol this time just in case?” I told him that I thought it might be a good idea, so he went to the bedroom to get it while I went outside to the car to get the dog’s leashes.
Seconds after I exited the house, I heard a shot ring out and my husband yelling my name. My heart stopped. I sprinted for the house, terrified that he may have hurt himself or one of the pups. I busted through the door to a living room that smelled like gun powder to find him standing there grabbing his ears and squinting his eyes like he had just encountered a flash bang.
I screamed in freaked out excitement, “Are you okay,” to which he replied, “I think so.” He asked where the dogs were, and it took us fifteen minutes to track them all down, as they had scattered like cockroaches when the shot rang out. Tucker was under the bed, Leia was under a bush in the backyard, and Jake had let himself out of the front door and headed down the street. Once all were wrangled, we realized no one was hurt. We had literally dodged a bullet.
“What the heck happened,” I asked. “I was checking to see if there was a round in the chamber and it went off. My hand wasn’t even near the trigger,” he explained. I’m not sure that I believe that this was a gun malfunction over user error, but seeing as how no one was hurt, I thought it was best not to split hairs and point fingers. He felt guilty enough on his own.
Our next task was to find where the bullet had gone, and it didn’t take long. It was lodged in about four pieces in the middle of our hard wood floors. I know that it could’ve been much worse, but spending the next two days ripping up the living room floor is something I could’ve done without.
A few days after the Wild West showdown in my living room, disaster number two happened when he once again decided to take it upon himself to take on another dangerous task…..checking the attic for packing boxes.
Normally, this would be a simple job, but not for my husband. I heard a gigantic crash, so I sprang from the bedroom to find his lower body dangling from the ceiling. I yelled, “Oh my gosh, are you okay?” He giggled like an embarrassed school boy and just said, “Oops.”
A minute or two later he managed to wiggle himself back into the attic with the help of a ladder. The mess was massive. There was sheetrock and insulation everywhere. Not to mention scuffed up walls, a dust covered couch, and a gaping hole the size of a small planet in my living room ceiling.
“This will be an easy fix,” he said hoping that I was in a good mood so that he didn’t have to die. Luckily, I was in fact in a good mood, so I smiled and gave him the eyes that said, “You are completely out of control, but I love you anyways.”
We spent the rest of our day off together repairing the sheetrock and cleaning the mess. I have to say that I nearly lost my good mood while holding up a heavy piece of sheetrock to the ceiling while he measured and searched for a pencil. I beginning to wonder if I can be considered for sainthood?
There are so many things I love about my husband, but his accident prone-ness isn’t one of them. I always talked about having a nanny one day when we have kids, but I’m seriously thinking we may need to hire one now. I’m not sure he can be left unsupervised and he loves warm milk before a nap….I think that qualifies. He may be a giant walking disaster, but at least he keeps things interesting.
I think I need to write an apology letter to my house. Poor little thing never had a chance.