7-2-02, Side Streets, Kimra Traynor Herb
A Wife's Helping Hand
By Kimra Traynor Herb
IPS Features
Lucky for me, I have my husband around the house to take care of the million or so odd jobs that need addressing. Unlucky for my husband, he has me for a helper. A few days ago, he decided that he was going to tackle the most pressing project, new handrails for the stairs leading up to the front of our home. "It's a good day to work," he said to me, "will you give me a hand?"
"Sure." I replied. "Just give me a second to get some stuff together."
While my husband was busy setting up his saw table, his level and other appropriate tools, I was busy too. I gathered together nail polish remover, an orangewood stick, cotton balls, base coat, two shades of polish (one bright pink and one sea-shell pink) and a top coat. Clutching the items against my chest, I walked down the basement stairs, pulled a lawn chair from the garage and sat down in it, shouting, "I'm ready!"
My husband took one look at me and frowned. "Ready for what?"
I sighed. "Ready" I replied, "to help you."
"How are you supposed to help me," he questioned, "when you are......." his voice trailed off; uncertain as to what it was, exactly, that I was doing.
"I'm just giving myself a little manicure and pedicure." I answered. "But don't worry, that won't interfere with my ability to help you."
My hubby looked at my collection of bottles and accessories and exhaled. "Okay." He said. "If you say so."
"Just let me know what you need me to do." I said, scrubbing a cotton ball soaked in polish remover across my toe nails. "I will be there, lickity split. Oh!" I sprang up from my lawn chair, suddenly remembering another essential to my helping. "I'll be right back." I returned with a cd player and an assortment of tunes which I turned on in the garage.
"Honey?" I queried, scrubbing on another toe nail as I resettled into my lawn chair."
"What?" He asked.
"Do you need me to help yet?"
He took a look at me, sprawled out in my lawn chair, swiping toxic liquid all over my toes. "Ummmm. Not yet."
I settled back into my chair and tackled my fingers with the remover. "Okay. Just know that I am here for you."
Halfway into my basecoat, my husband picked up a long board and headed to the saw. "I need some help here." He looked worried. "If you can."
Blowing on my nails, I jumped up quickly. "No problem! I am here for you babe!"
My job involved holding the board steady from the opposite end that it entered the saw. Not a taxing job, but still one which challenged the limitations of my ability to remain steady. The more I looked at my husband who was maneuvering the board at an angle through the blade, the more difficult it seemed to hold my end straight.
"Don't push it." My husband warned, over the blare of the saw, "Just hold it steady."
Holding it steady was easier said than done. Though I was not fired from my job, I think that as far as helpers went, I was pretty much the bottom of the old helper barrel. However, the boys were occupied with their friends and hired help was out of the question, so my hubby had to make do with the lowest tier of labor: me.
Somewhere between my main coat and the top coat, I had to hold some more boards steady and then before the top coat was completely dry; I held some different boards while he put screws in them. When we were done, we stepped back and admired our handiwork.
"It looks pretty good, doesn't it?" My husband said, stepping back into the yard and squinting at the handrail.
"Not too bad." I replied, absentmindedly, squinting down at my nails, checking for any chips in the polish.
Luckily, my husband didn't realize I was talking about my manicure and pedicure, which, might I add, might have turned out a hair nicer if it hadn't been for all the sawdust blowing around out there.