Amanda Hopper Writes

A writer's tale of living and working in the country.

More Power

I think 2011 is going to bring an intervention.
For my husband, Andy the tool-man Hopper.
Whatever the current object of his obsession, it will be retrofitted for more power, greater capacity, and the ability to be used for things the original engineers never considered. He has even brainwashed our oldest son into believing that just because the box says it can’t be done…
During the recent concrete pour for our tower pads, Andy managed to find a way to fit all the delivered concrete into his grave-sized holes filled with rebar, even though we were supposed to only have used half the amount. Upon asking him about the buffed up pads he responded with a wink, “if some concrete is good, lots of concrete is better.”
He rarely thinks a hired someone can do the job better. Those rebar cages I described? They were supposed to be built and installed by a seasoned concrete guy. When he failed to deliver in the allotted amount of time? Andy built the cages himself from plans a gifted cousin designed. His hands are still covered in scratches and scars from the endeavour. But he finished the construction 30 minutes before the concrete truck arrived. And who tamped down the concrete as Andy instructed the driver?
Yours truly.
That is the real problem. He will probably go down in family history for the crazy and brilliant things he does, but history will not divulge the other family members he roped into his hair-brained schemes.
Yeah, you know who you are.
Those willing schmucks who sacrifice time and body parts to catch a glimpse of the latest evil plan he has dreamed up. We all do it. I know I participate hoping for an opportunity to say “I told you so.”
I’ll let you know when that happens.
Sadly, no matter how bizarre, how outlandish, his stupid plans always work.
A few nights ago the first floor of our house was a web of wires strung between rooms. I stared in confusion, knowing he had spent days before the house was drywalled installing gazillions of wires. Andy was running up and down stairs, Grant was up to his shoulder in the wall, yells of “can you see it yet?” were traveling nosily between the studs. Ian finally gave up trying to traverse the obstacle course that was our living room, and sat down grumpily on the couch, angry to be separated from his beloved Wii by another of Daddy’s diabolical plans.
When I finally gave in and asked Andy what he was doing his answer of “I’m rewiring it” nearly sent me rolling on the floor as I suddenly realized that I am married to Tim Allen’s character of Tim Taylor.
Luckily nothing has blown up….yet.

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