One Man's Dream Is Another Woman's Nightmare

It's happening.

The ridiculously oversized, mammoth garage my husband has been dreaming of for over ten years is finally starting to materialize. That's the funny thing about dreams. You dream them long enough and hard enough, guilt your wife and spend every last dollar you haven't even earned yet and POOF! Dreams really can come true!

I leave for America and come home to find I had a popsicle stick roof. I was gone four and a half days. Apparently my husband moves a whole lot quicker when I'm not around to pester him with back-seat construction instructions.

(I'm not a carpenter but my grandfather and my brother are, therefore I KNOW EVERYTHING. It's a rule. One my husband does not understand.)

I have to admit; I was a tad impressed with the sheer enormity of the project once the roof was on. I had a hard time gauging the size and scope of the project from the prints and even when it was just cement walls and open sky it still didn't look big.

It looks big now.

It looks HUGE.

It looks like we are building an airplane hangar for my invisible jet.

Even my husband, the power behind this project, had a moment of clarity and admitted that maybe, perhaps, possibly, I was right and it is a bit of a monstrosity that could have been a wee bit smaller.

It was the sexiest pillow talk ever.

Also? It goes without saying that I am often right. No matter what my husband thinks.

However right I am, the project isn't going to get any smaller and I'm going to have to learn to live with a garage with more square footage than my house.

My tractor totally deserves fancier digs than me. Its been around longer than I have and I'm certain it's resale value is higher.

The upside to this oversized barn/shop/garage/airplane storage facility is that there is an upstairs. My husband contends this will be a games room; a place where he can scratch his manhood, watch movies and throw some darts. Or something. I have a different idea though.

I'm envisioning a rehabilitation room for Jumby, an office for myself and maybe a craft room where I can play with glue and sparkles and all sorts of decidedly girly things.

The truth of the matter is, there is SPACE ENOUGH FOR ALL OF OUR IDEAS.


At least my ugly couch will finally find a home it looks good in. (I am a 'the glass is half full' type of gal.)

Then again, if we don't get the floor poured and the staircase built soon I may have to abandon my lofty (get it? heh) plans for all things glittery because I don't know how many more times I can climb that ladder. My thighs are screaming at me in pain just looking at that damn ladder.

I have nightmares about that ladder, that's how many times I've climbed it.

Of course, I also have nightmares about my kids falling and crashing to their deaths because apparently my teenagers are part monkey and they are fearless. Every time I go to find them I have to look up and then yell at them to get their arses back down out of the trusses, off a wall, please for the love of all that is holy get off the roof before you kill yourself.

This entire project is killing me.

I'm a walking ball of anxiety. I'm either worried about someone hurting themselves, the weather, the fact my husband is practically killing himself to get this done basically by himself, the cost expenditure, the timeline or you know, a myriad of other construction woes.

I am not cut out for building things.


I feel like an arse admitting this, because you know, I'm getting a fancy, near-indestructible building to shack my car in and I should be grateful that we have the means to do this.

I am spoiled and fortunate and incredibly blessed.

Except I am unable to stop worrying about everything that can go wrong and it's robbing me of the joy of knowing how awesome it will be when it's finished.

Construction: It makes me neurotic. And not in the charming way.

To be honest (or TBH like all the cool youngsters say on Facebook,) I may be going a little crazy.

The upside is, it seems like everyone else around here is losing it too, so at least I won't be alone in my padded cell.

*I swear, one day soon I will stop yapping about this damn garage.*