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Sep 11 2008

Garage Door

Posted by Mugs @ 1:05 pm in Commute,Family Print This Post Print This Post

It’s quite humorous to now experience the same events as my husband and then read his viewpoint of them.  His first day of commute from his perspective had a few problems…to me, it was a disaster.  Hence the wise advice of always having two or more witnesses.  He had gotten his motorcycle running over the weekend, so I was still in bed when he attempted to leave for work.  There are plenty of dedicated wives who get up in the morning and make their husband’s breakfast and kiss him goodbye.  And then, I am quite sure that there is at least one lazy wife who sleeps in as late as possible and does not get out of bed until she needs to wake the kids and feed them.  So, I came awake to the sound of an engine being turned over and over and over with no hope of starting.  I got up, got dressed, grabbed my purse, and got in the van.  My husband reluctantly put his motorcycle back in the garage.  He had been running late already because the night prior, he had not shaved off his two weeks of beard growth.  In the past, he had always shaved off his beard the night before he went back to work.  However, after being forced to shave every day for an entire year, he wanted to hold onto his beard as long as possible.  I told him to keep the mustache, but he wouldn’t.  He should of joined the Navy.  I think they let you grow a beard in the Navy.  I’ve always wondered why you can’t have a beard in the Army.  I use the “No Beards in the Army” rule as motivation for him to retire from the Army.  “When you get out of the Army, you can grow a beard,” I tell him.  Now, I have to add, “But you might have to dye it.”  A friend I haven’t seen for 10+ years asked me if I had gotten old.  I told him, “I must have because I now have an old husband.”  Anyway, I dropped Dale off to stand in the long slug line approximately 40 minutes later than he had hoped to be standing there.  Afterwards, I dropped the kids off at school.  Later on that day, upon returning from picking Zeke up from preschool, I heard a loud metal on metal screeching sound that made Zeke and I jump.  I had no idea what it was, so I stood in the garage momentarily confused.  I had just opened the sliding door on the van and a large truck was driving by.  When I didn’t see a giant scratch on the van, I assumed the truck was dragging something on the road.  I then went inside.  After 2 hours home, Zeke and I loaded back up in the car to pick up the other kids.  My garage door refused to move and after several futile attempts to lift it myself, I realized I wasn’t going anywhere.  I called the school first and asked a friend to bring the kids home.  I then called the company who had put in the garage door.  “There was a loud screeching noise and now my garage door won’t open,” I told the girl on the phone.  “You probably broke a spring.  Look above the door, ” she replied.  I looked and sure enough a spring was broken.  “Can you please send someone out to fix it?” I asked.  “No. Sorry.  All our repairmen are done for the day.  We’ll send someone tomorrow,” she said.  “It’s 3pm and you advertise 24 hour emergency repair.  My car is stuck in my garage,” I replied.  “Maybe someone can help you lift the door,” she said.  “Thanks for you help,” I said.  I hung up and decided that it was silly of me to think 24 hour emergency service should involve the hours between 3pm and 8am.  I was now seeing visions of Dale arriving at the slug lot and having to walk home to finish off his terrible first day commute.  The kids arrived home and my friend who had experienced a broken garage door spring before informed me of the best way to tackle the problem.  Josiah, Abby, Gabe and I spaced ourselves along the garage door.  With a “Lay Hold…Heave” we got it moving.  I was soon covered in sweat and irritation, but it wouldn’t stay up.  Abby, who had sore arms the next day, and Josiah then stood on a ladder to hold the door in place while I backed out of the garage with Gabe as ground guide.  We all then lowered it back down.  I left to pick up Dale, who inspite of all the days problems was now a firm believer in slugging.  The next morning two guys came to replace the springs.  They lifted the door and hooked it in place like it was the simplest task in the world.  Once again, I observed how to do a task simply and compared it to my effort to accomplish the same task.  I have a great ability to make everything more difficult than it is.  It must be part of the Meloch gene.  I mentioned to the guys how loud it was when the spring broke.  To which one replied, “Yeh, it’s even louder when it breaks in your face.”  I thought it best to keep my 7 hour emergency repair comment to myself.

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