When You Want It Done Right...

Mike is taking Caleb and I to the train station. YaY! We could have gone on the bus - in fact, were going to go by bus. But, Mike woke up today not feeling well. Not a huge deal. Mike sucked it up and decided to go to work. He got out to the car and found a flat tire - so he did what he should have done in the first place and called in sick. Then he went out change the tire so he can go have it fixed.

He went out the door and I thought he was long gone. I'd gone back to sleep for twenty minutes, gotten up, came upstairs and checked my email. Mike came back in and told me that he'd gotten the bolts off the tire but he couldn't get the tire to come off of the car. I said, "Do you want me to come and help you?" Mike replied, "Well, I don't know how you can help." But clearly that was what he wanted as he had come to get me in the first place. So I threw some clothes on and went out.

When we got outside, Mike demonstrated how the tire was stuck and I felt around it a little bit. The difference between Mike and I, car repair wise, was that his parents were always willing to have their car maintenance done professionally. Always frugal, my mom sent my dad out to do any manner of work on our cars before she'd dole out the money for a mechanic to take a look at it. Whether Dad did any actual work or whether he merely spent an hour with the hood up, peeking into the engine to placate Mom...well, only he knows for sure. But smaller jobs - oil changes, brake repair, hose replacements - that was all done by my dad, so I've had the opportunity to watch some of these things being done. Now, as far as tire changes go, my mom felt her obligation stopped with learning how to do it in case she had to do it on the highway. Any flat tires that happened at home? Well, that's why she kept my dad around for 32 years. That, heavy lifting and opening the really stuck jars. Upon an inspection, I thought to myself, "Seems to me that a hammer is in order here." But, knowing how that news would go over with Mike if I said it, I said, "Call my Dad and ask him what he thinks you should do." He did. Then he got off the phone, looked at me a little funny and said, "Your dad told me to hit the inside of it with a hammer."

Sooooo, Mike went into the house and brought out a hammer. He kneeled down and, rotating the tire a few inches every few taps, proceeded to tap the back of the tire as though it was made out of crystal. "Plink, plink, plink, plink, plink." Rotate. "Plink, plink, plink, plink, plink." Rotate. Then after he made it around the tire all the way, he'd try and pull it off again.

Now, I thought to myself, "There's no way that's going to dislodge that tire." But, because it was really amusing for me to watch, I let him keep doing it for awhile. "Plink, plink, plink, plink, plink." Rotate. "Plink, plink, plink, plink, plink." Rotate.

Finally, I was like, "Why don't you let me try it once." Mike looked at me skeptically (why is it that men always doubt that we know what we're doing), but he gave me the hammer. I know he was horrified when I started whaling on the back of the tire, but after only a second or two, I heard him exclaim excitedly from behind me, "Oh, you got it! I see it moving." And voila, off it popped!

In other news, I came upstairs to find this sight this morning.

And several other mornings, actually. The kid has a bed and, when it's too hot to sleep in the spare room, a couch/sofa bed in the living room. Why is it that I wake up and find him sleeping on the floor? It really cracks Mike up and he'll wake me up (I probably have mentioned before that I like for him to wake me up when he goes to work, so that I know he's leaving) and tell me, "Hobo Joe's sleeping in the living room." He's always been a notoriously sound sleeper. (Remind me to tell you about the time I had him and Meagan both asleep in the car.) I know he starts out on the couch but how he ends up where he does on the floor, I'll never know. Today he was in the middle of the hallway to the kitchen. Last night, we were talking when he said, "One night, I woke up on the floor. That was weird." I just laughed. He doesn't remember any of the six to eight times I woke him up when he was sleeping on the floor and sent him downstairs to sleep in my bed.

I guess that illustrates the difference between the young and the aging. At 16 you sleep on the floor and don't even remember doing it. At 30, you think about sleeping on the floor and your back starts to hurt.