You think you have a happy marriage, right up until you start carrying heavy building materials together…
Actually heavy anything is probably more accurate.
As newlyweds we moved into an apartment and filled it almost exclusively with IKEA furniture. We just assumed we loved each other more than all the other couples who cautioned us to never carry heavy things together.
My sister-law told me about a furniture moving with my brother so harrowing she was devising a murder plot. That is if she didn’t die while carrying said furniture. Another brother of mine went so far as to make himself an elaborate furniture strap/backpack so he could move heavy furniture solo and live a long blissful married life.
This is us in our first apartment back in 2011. That couch weighs maybe 20 pounds…
Turns out Brett and I just hadn’t carried a whole lot of heavy crap together. We did foray into this realm during the bathroom reno when we had to carry a wicked heavy vanity with a marble top. The thrill of throwing money down the toilet, by breaking it, and the possibility of throwing out our backs, by which I mean dying, trapped under the weight, made it almost too fun to stand.
Good thing those memories were buried deep down so we went full steam ahead with the next steps of our project. Brett had gone to Menards and got these massive sheets of treated plywood, 4×8 and 3/4 inch thick for the roof of the fort. Luckily they were also soaked, so they weighed approximately a bajillion pounds.
Now I’m not saying I don’t work out. (That’s a joke. I don’t. I’m not even sure I believe in the whole premise of working out). But if you look at the average American, then consider that those who find themselves in the hospital could be considerably less healthy and with considerably more girth, then consider who is boosting them up in bed. Yup. Nurses. But somehow that skill set doesn’t exactly translate to carrying heavy things. Generally nurses don’t do a lot of carrying of patients. Except for one of our old favorite nurses on the CARE unit who was so good about getting people up and walking, he half carried them around the unit.
All that to say Brett ended up carrying 7/8 of a bajillion pounds while I carried the other portion (1/8 for those of you who are into fractions). I would also yell things like I’m going to drop it as I was dropping it. Brett loved that. Just when I was starting to think maybe I won’t die (this was after carrying the plywood out of the van and across the yard), Brett explained how we were now going to have to lift the plywood up a good 8 feet above our heads. Then slide it up the steep portion of the roof and then up and over the roof line to the other side.
I said “well, let’s give it a try.” Brett really was of the opinion we shouldn’t just try since there was no real exit strategy for hoisting a huge sheet of plywood above your head. Brett stayed on the ground to hoist from the bottom. I think my job was guiding it or pushing it or something.
This is Brett up on the roof with the piece of plywood we got in place.
If it sounds haphazard, it’s because it was. You’ll be happy to know after six years of wedded bliss we do still love each other. It does however, make me seriously question our judgment. Our neighbor literally asked, as I was almost dropping the plywood, if we needed help, we laughed and said “no, we got it.” Is that a sign of becoming a crazy person?
If you feel like you got scammed with this blog post. You did. We have one sheet of plywood up. But we got them all out of the van… so there is that. And last post I felt like we were on the verge of over-delivering. So consider this post of the lower-your-expectations variety.