There was no safety rope
Does this Guy Get Paid Enough?
The First Step to Recovery: Admit You Have a Problem

We all want to believe we can handle it ourselves. But there comes a time when we have to admit something is bigger than what our tools (either actual nuts and bolts tools or life experience tools, maybe even emotional tools!) will allow us to manage. When the leak in the ceiling has filled various bowls and containers with more than a few gallons worth of water, it might be time to consider that there is a problem. I can even say I’m doing it for the kids — it will provide hours of very expensive entertainment for them, and they might even reference this Christmas as The Year the Roof Leaked and The Guys Came with the Steam Blaster and Climbed Up on the Roof That Was Awesome!. I think it might just be worth it.

But just in case it’s NOT worth doing for the kids, it is inconvenient to keep having to empty those seven containers of water every morning and evening. I could try to get the kids to do it, but then there’s the inevitable mopping and wet carpets to contend with. So that’s not a viable option. And I gotta tell ya, the diapers I’m using to soak up the sprinkles ain’t cheap either! I only have one child left in diapers, and we’re trying to get her out of those (I should probably address the pacifier thing sometime soon too, huh?), so the prospect of spending even more time with boxes of diapers around is not appealling.

It comes down to the way I want to pay; all in one chunk or in small increments over the next few winters. If I do it all in one bank bag with a green dollar sign on it, then I might be able to go away overnight without having to pay somebody to come empty the buckets of leaky runoff. Though I might actually be able to find enough nickles in my couch to buy another box of diapers…

But if I could get my hands on a bank bag with a green dollar sign on it, it might be fun to play with if nothing else. I could leave it laying around when company comes over, and then act all nonchalant about it and say, “Oh that! Oh, I’m so sorry. I meant to have that money bag put away before you got here. Let me get rid of that,” and then heave it up over my shoulder like it was all heavy even though in reality it wouldbe filled with crunched up newspapers.

Or I could drag it out to the garbage can like a huge bag of leaves just as they come to pick up the trash on a Monday, and then hoist it up and just barely be able to shove it into the can, then brush my hands off like I’m glad to be rid of it. I wonder how long they would last before they’d have to pull it back out just to see what really was in there? I’d make a terrible garbage collector ’cause I’d be too curious about what people were throwing away, or I’d think I could make something out of it (The White Stripes: “Make some money out of it at least!”). Ask me about my rock-adorned lamp sometime!

 

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