STUMBLING FORWARD: Happiness subtraction by addition

I usually dont trust those fun fact statistics that sound too cool to be true. Like the whole second to death, the thing that scares people most is public speaking nonsense. So, youre telling me if I gave you the option of either spending an hour in a room with a bunch of drunken IRS auditors with three years of returns and ax handles or giving a short talk on the history of crochet, youre going with Crazy Carl the Deduction Denier?

So when I heard that remodeling is one of the biggest causes of divorce, I didnt give it much credence. Cmon, how bad it can be. I have no opinion whatsoever on dcor, layout or samples of flooring, paints, trims or any other thing that comes in various colors or textures. I dont have a favorite color, a fact some people (my children) find unacceptable for some reason. And when it comes to nooks, alcoves and atrium talk, I always assumed those were assorted Asian fruits and nuts, not rooms.

So, once we locked in the cost, signed the paperwork and had my panic attack about how long it was going to take me to pay it off, I figured I was through with it until it was time to move in. Sometimes even Im shocked at my naivet and general lack of life knowledge.

We were adding on entire rooms and a garage, so someone had to actually do the building. It doesnt just magically appear because you decide to do it. Who knew? So we had to find a contractor who could and would do our addition. But when you ask people about contractors, its like asking mothers about their experience with labor. The stories are always horrible, long and detailed, and end with someone crying.

Im not kidding. Ask someone about his contractor and youll hear about the greatest schemes, scams, crimes, lies, broken promises and then you end up with shoddy construction and one of your children inexplicably missing. So I did a lot of asking around.

After getting a few names from folks whose homes seemed fairly well constructed and who still had all their children, I talked to a few contractors. After visiting with a couple (one who laughed at weird times, like after a declarative sentence that was just stating non-humorous facts and one who kept talking about his boat), we found one who seemed trustworthy. Im going to call him Maurice Graber with First Rate Construction, which makes sense since that is his name.

Actually, I now call him Job. I dont know why anyone, honest or not, would want to be a contractor. His usual morning begins with 14 texts from me with the myriad of concerns the wife has about the previous days work. After flooding his inbox with questions about paint, trim, shower doors, tile-no wood-no tile, ceiling fan placement and lots of words I have to write down and refer to when texting because I dont know what they are, Im thinking a nice little plague with lots of boils and suffering would be preferable.

This whole thing has made me recalibrate my reactions to the wifes reactions. For most of our marriage, I could meet her freak out level, spasm to spasm. House flooding or burning, were both running in pound sign and star patterns unproductively. Kid shows up at the edge of the bed at 3 a.m. with a my tummy hurts, were both doing shoulder rolls to get out of the projectile puke zone. String theory documentary comes on the TV, were both doing that of course head nod and hoping theres not a quiz afterwards.

But in remodeling, theres a total loss of the we both construction in our familial sentences.

Ill be standing there, minding my own business not really doing much of anything, and the wife will burst through the door in lugubrious panic, so I have to determine if it is because: 1) the children have been eaten by wolves; 2) the Rapture has occurred and my theory that the Good Lord has a soft spot for the goofy has fallen through; or 3) the windows in the garage door arent rounded enough. Thus far, its been the garage window thing.

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STUMBLING FORWARD: Happiness subtraction by addition