God but I hate spring.
Okay. Not the part where everything is growing and most of the work is behind you, no.
No…I hate the part when you look around and see the spider webs in the basement and the mud on the sidewalk and you say: “Hey. Somebody better take care of that.” And then you realize it’s you, baby. Allllll you.
I offered the youngest cash on the barrel head if he would take the burners out of the stove and clean the gunk that somehow manages to get down there. He was all for it. (I offered quite a bit.) And then? It wasn’t long before the idea of SOS pads and chip, chippin’ away had lost its appeal. That’s usually my cue to come in and get it done. I should make business cards.
Fence needs painting? Pool needs scrubbed? General poop picker-upper and great gutter girl. Blah. No thanks. I’ve enough of it around here.
Anyhoo, here’s the conversation between me and the youngest concerning a full set of burners and the goo in the hard-to-get underneaths:
Youngest: Okay. Sure. (Rolls up sleeves of nice shirt.) This shouldn’t take long.
Me: You might want to change your shirt. This black gunk here? (Points with horror and a little shame.) It tends to get everywhere.
Youngest: (Smirks.) I got this.
Me: Okay but wait! What are you doing?
Youngest: I’m taking it apart.
Me: Ok, ummm…no. It’s hard-wired in. You’re going to have to reach your hand around in this hole where the burn pan used to be.
Youngest: That’s stupid.
Me: Yeah, well. I’m not an electrician and neither are you.
Youngest: (Shrugs it off.) Yeah. I still got this.
I walk off and come back about a half an hour later.
Youngest: (Using butter knife to get some of the more stuck on grime.)
Me: You want me to get some rags? Power sanders?
Youngest: Oh no, mom. That would ruin them. I need something I can throw away.
Me: (Ninja-throws paper towels.)
Youngest: Perfect.
Me: You know what helps? SOS pads. Here, let me get the box…
Youngest: No. I have a system.
It was my turn to smirk, but it goes unnoticed by the chip, chip, chipperin’ guy really doing a good job of trying really hard. I feel guilty for being all ha-ha in my head and I get the SOS pad wet and start trying to get a corner to show him.
Youngest: I got this!
About an hour later, I can’t find him. I do eventually, he’s propped up with pizza and gives me a look.
Me: Sooo…about the stove?
Youngest: It’s done.
Having just come from there, I know better.
Me: There’s still a lot of work to be done.
Youngest: Oh no, that’s on there for good. It’s stained.
Me: Um…actually, with just a little of that steel wool you can…
Youngest: Stained.
That’s when I finally understood that he was done with it.
And so, a much shorter manicure and a half a box of SOS pads later, I can now declare that sonofabitch to be done.
And I had to pay for labor.
Spring sucks.
