Rescue Me

Sometimes I feel like I will never really cross the threshold into adulthood. Despite having pursued several adult milestones-educated myself, stayed in one job for over 10 years, married, purchased a house, there are moments that serve to confirm my suspicions that I am still a puerile kid, tromping around in baggy adult skin. Maybe having a kid would cement my legitimacy- there's no debating parenthood ups the generational ante.  Sure, you can still be a total idiot once you're a parent, but somehow being responsible for a tiny human being gives you immediate cred as an adult.  Alas, I don't currently (nor may I ever) have this reinforcement for my authenticity as a big person.  Besides, I know plenty of other adults who don't have kids & I don't question their "maturity".  But clearly I have some cognitive dissonance to work through when it comes to growing up.

The other day I was trying to replace a bulb in a dome light in our upstairs hallway.  The knob on the glass was not giving and in my struggles, the whole fixture came down from the screws holding it delicately in place.  As I was attempting to reattach it, there was an alarming buzzing and the circuit tripped.  This took place immediately after my failed attempt to install a ceiling fan in our living room. I turned the breaker off, capped the wires and trudged downstairs to call my mom to bemoan my utter lack of skills.  Unfortunately, my story really only served to sound the alarm that our house was about to go up in flames from an electrical fire & before I knew it, she was calling me to say they were coming down with her friend (Mrs. D) and her husband (Mr. D)- an electrician!- to take care of some business under the guise of her Christmas present to us.  I won't lie- I did a little jig in my head- I would have actually danced around the room were I not born of a terrific New England inhibition.  But I was really touched & grateful that my stalwart Mommy was still willing to come the rescue of her- ahem- 40 year old daughter.  B, when informed of the circus that would be our house in the morning, assented because- well, really, what choice did he have?  He's a good egg.

Every time something breaks in our house, I feel a crushing helplessness.  So before my parents and Mr. & Mrs. D even arrived, I was fully kid-identified.  Something about not taking care of business on my own really draws this out.  When I was a kid, my dad could fix anything.  He was also an electrician and had an innate understanding of the mechanical nature of things that allowed him to handle most projects on his own.  By the time my brother started wielding a hammer at age 3, they had all their bases covered.  We never had to call anyone for anything and the legacy for me is a tragic idea that I can fix things too.  I, unlike my brother who is supremely handy, am perpetually caught up short by the vast chasm between my certainty that "I can do that!" and the reality that just because you own a drill & a circular saw doesn't mean you can do anything other than cause bodily harm.  In spite of this, I am loathe to call in an expert so things go on unfixed for ridiculous periods of time.  Yes, we did turn the water on & off inside the wall behind the shower for 8 months before I called a plumber to fix the actual faucet.  I like to think I'm just adaptable.

My mom, on the other hand, is a force for getting things done already.  She makes it happen. Mrs. D, I dare say, is like my mom- to the infinity power.  This is a teensy bit overwhelming. Even before we pulled the stove out to find a part number to fix the oven which has been broken for 2 years and they whipped out their rags & bleach to clean the gremlins living, unbeknownst to me, in the dark recesses of my kitchen, I had a hive.  Not only can I not seem to hang a ceiling fan or fix the stupid stove, I am BAD HOUSEKEEPER to boot.  Now, let me just say that these revelations are born of my own wee brain and are not so much the result of any insinuations (thinly veiled or not) from my mom or Mrs. D.  They are exceedingly polite ladies who love to help. They lead by example and their example is to make haste not waste!  I am the beneficiary.  My example, unfortunately, is to stop baking anything that can't be popped into our oversized toaster oven and make a big joke out of why the real oven is still broken after 25 months.  I'm not sure who benefits from my example.

What really chafes in these scenarios is that I honestly aspire to be self-sufficient.  I loathe paying someone to do something I think I should, in a perfect world, be able to do myself.  In many ways, I'm more independent than many women of my mother's generation.  And yet, this letting-a-problem-linger-until-someone-rescues-you problem seems like maybe not the most adult approach.  I probably I need a plan.

Maybe getting off the couch would be a good first step.  But I am currently sitting by the fire, below a lovely new ceiling fan, swirling over me a pool of warm-cool-warm air that's like swimming in a warm lake in summer & occasionally coming upon a cool spot.  In spite of the psychic conflict is raises, I am exceedingly grateful that there are still real adults in my life in a position to rescue me from all manner of failed house projects.  And though none of the other hoped-for projects were completed by my dream team today, I do have a clean floor under the stove, the happy confirmation of the slipshod manner in which our house was renovated (phew!) and a new appreciation for the fire-averting powers of a circuit breaker.    It's a miracle, really, because were it not for my make-it-happen mama & Mr. D, the fan would have sat in a box cluttering up the dining room for months.  That is, if we were not rebuilding our house after a terrifying fire.  And we'd be in a real pickle then, wouldn't we?