The Hole in the WALL GANG

August 1, 2009 | By More

The fact that my husband has not run away from home after almost 25 years of marriage and fatherhood is a miracle. This poor man lives in a house with three boys and a wife who somehow manage to supply him with an endless list of things that need to be repaired. All three boys have accidently, and at times purposely, put holes in the walls or doors of our home.

I know many parents would find this totally unacceptable and inexcusable. I, on the other hand, will keep my mouth shut because long before the boys were big enough to put holes in walls, their dear mother had an accidental-on- purpose hole of her own.

Many years ago, when the boys were very young, I had spent countless hours carefully packing away the winter clothes and arranging the summer clothes. The winter clothes, in their big brown boxes, were awaiting a trip to the attic.

Now, I knew little boys and big brown boxes were a perfect match, but it never occurred to me to tell the boys to leave these boxes alone. That was a huge mistake. Probably an even bigger mistake was leaving these boxes in their playroom.

Yes, you guessed it. I walked in the playroom to find the clothes thrown out onto the floor and three little boys happily playing in the boxes. A better mother than me would have probably laughed, but I was frustrated to the point of tears thinking of the hours of work that had just been undone in a matter of minutes.

Trying to keep my emotions in check, I leaned up against the nearest wall and kicked it. I had never kicked a wall before and, much to my surprise, my foot went right through it. At that point, I crumpled to the floor in a crying mess. The children just stared at me in disbelief.

That was the very first hole in a wall my dear husband was called upon to fix.

The children have definitely surpassed me in that they have gone on to break windows with golf balls, skateboards and baseballs. The oldest has even managed to run into a shopping cart in a store parking lot, resulting in a broken headlight. The middle child has backed into a “set-in-concrete steel mailbox”. That thing was not moving. The bumper and trunk lid on my son’s car, however, crumpled like a piece of paper. The youngest has driven his car with a broken oil pan — ruining the transmission. (This was after he had been told not to take his car on the gravel road that resulted in the broken oil pan.)

Now, we have had the children pay for most of the repairs, but it still falls on good old dad to see that the repairs occur. I know that he feels like “Mr. Fix It Man” most of the time and it doesn’t help that his wife is just as bad as the children sometimes.

Just the other day I was mowing and managed to run over a grounding rod – whatever that is. Anyway, it freaked me out because I thought I had cut some kind of cable that was going to cause our house to burn down or electrocute someone if they touched the wrong thing.

Donald, my husband, received a frantic phone call from me saying I needed him immediately. He asked me to explain what this “cable” looked like. All I could tell him was it was black with copper wires. Not exactly a precise description but I was too afraid to get very close. That poor man rushed home just to discover that my emergency was no big deal – thank goodness.

But the other day he experienced a moment to beat all moments. It began when I walked into my boys’ bathroom. My boys have been known to put up posters all over their rooms and bathrooms. It has never been a very artistic endeavor so I never paid much attention to the hodgepodge way they have hung them.

One sign in particular is strategically place near the toilet and reads, “No Dumping”. The boys think this is so funny and I must admit it has brought a smile to my face a time or two. It is such a guy thing.

Anyway, as I walked into their bathroom several weeks ago, one of the posters had fallen down and behind it was an enormous hole. I immediately summoned my youngest son and loudly inquired ‘what in the heck had happened?’

He informed me that he and his brother Dillon were messing around one day many months ago and he “accidently” shoved Dillon, causing his rear-end to go through the wall. It gives a whole new meaning to ‘butt hole.’ This was a big hole.

I guess my youngest decided that confession was good for the soul because he continued to inform me that there was a smaller hole behind that infamous “No Dumping” sign – the result of another long ago shoving match.

When Donald got home from work that day I told him he had to go look in the boys bathroom. Of course, he asked why, and I said, “Oh, you will see.”

My poor husband just rolled his eyes when he saw the hole and headed off to gather his drywall tape and mud. While he was at it, he decided he might as well fix all the holes that have been placed in all the walls around the house. This meant removing all the posters searching for long forgotten mishaps.

Fortunately, no new holes were discovered but you can bet that if a new poster goes up anywhere in my house, I will be checking the wall behind it.

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Category: Every Day Life

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