My mom had knee surgery a few weeks ago and is on crutches. Their bedroom is on the 2nd story of their house and I worry about her falling on the stairs. So I call her from work mid-morning each day just to make sure she made it down the stairs okay that morning, and to see if she needs me to help her with lunch or anything. (Yes, I know I'm an overprotective daughter, but I get it from her.) My brother lives with my parents (college kid) and was off work today, so I didn't need to call today. But I wanted to invite them over for dinner tonight, so I called anyway, around 9:30am. No one answered. I figured Mom was in the shower and my brother was probably still asleep, so I waited until 10 and called again. No answer. Then I called my dad's office to ask if maybe she had an appointment my brother had taken her to. But Dad didn't pick up and I got his secretary's voicemail. Then I called his cell phone, which he also didn't answer. So then I called my brother's cell. No answer. THEN I called my mom's cell. No answer.

My entire family had disappeared.

I continued to make this round of calls for the next hour, with no one EVER answering ANY phones. In fact, all of their cell phones went straight to voicemail, which means THEY DIDN'T EVEN HAVE THEM TURNED ON.

Worried my poor mother was lying at the bottom of the stairs, helpless and alone, I left work and drove to their house to check on her. No one was home, which I was glad about because it explained why no one was answering the house phone.

Now that I'm not worried anymore, I'm ANNOYED. I know exactly where each person's cell phone is: Mom's is in her purse, Dad's is clipped to his belt, and my brother's is in his jeans pocket. BUT THEY ARE NOT TURNED ON. My family must think cell phones are just for their own convenience and never stop to think that someone (ME) might be worried sick and trying to call them. What the hell is the point of having cell phones if you NEVER TURN THEM ON? Seriously folks, that shit ain't right.

There is just no excuse for this kind of behavior. They are so getting a lecture over dinner tonight.

Update - 3:10pm: I just now finally got Mom on the phone. She has been at the dentist ALL DAY getting caps and whitening. I had thought of the possibility of an appointment, but she and I talk every day and she didn't mention any appointments to me last evening. Well, it turns out she had intentionally not mentioned it because she wanted to surprise me with her new and improved smile. How can I be mad about that? And, how can I expect her to have her cell phone on when the dentist has his hand shoved in her mouth such that she couldn't answer it even if it did ring? So she's off the hook.

And my brother went in to work after all, and he always turns his cell off at work. So he's off the hook.

And my dad is traveling for work today and is out of cell range (Redneck Valley, remember). So he's off the hook as well.

Too bad, because I had a fire and brimstone sermon all ready to go.

Over the weekend Rob and I went to a concert of our favorite band, Eddie from Ohio. They were performing as part of an Independence Day weekend celebration, and one of the events was a pie-eating contest. But there were different kinds of pie! Some people in the contest got banana cream, others got apple, others got boysenberry or something. How unfair is that? The people who got the fruit pies were at a major disadvantage because the fruit pies had crusts on top AND chunks of fruit to chew! There we were, celebrating America as the land of opportunity and equality for all, and the pie-eating contest was rigged! WTF?

In both rounds, a banana cream pie eater won. Obviously. The second round was won by Olga, a Russian woman who glared at the host when he asked her where she was from. (He meant where in the area, but she did not like the question.) And then when he asked her "How did you win this contest?" she said, "I ate fast. And I am Russian." Everyone laughed nervously.

What with the false sense of equality and the multi-cultural misunderstandings, perhaps it was an accurate representation of this country after all.

I think a couple's true colors come out when they tackle a project together. Projects so often become tests in problem-solving, and how a couple handles those says a lot about the couple. I think, anyway.

Soon after Rob and I were married, we bought a big metal storage shelf. You know, the BIG ones you put in the garage. We had to assemble it ourselves, and the pieces were long and heavy and pretty much created for the sole purpose of outsmarting two smarter-than-the-average-bear people. There was much grunting and cursing and FRUSTRATION. Our frustration with the shelf soon turned into frustration with each other. I think I may have even knocked Rob upside the head with a metal shelf beam at one point. Accidentally, of course. As they say here in Redneck Valley, we just about lost our religion over that dang shelf.

Since them, we've found our rhythm in working with each other. We've undertaken several large home improvement projects and, happily, haven't lost our religion over any of them. Until yesterday. Yesterday we came close. Yesterday there was religion slippage.

We are (and have been for the past year) renovating our pantry, which is a small room off our kitchen. We work on it maybe once a month if there's time. So far there hasn't been a lot of time. Currently, the walls and ceiling are all torn out and the floor is bare concrete. Insulation has been stapled in and we are ready to install drywall. We've never done drywall before, but how hard can it be, right?

Our first mistake was to initiate ourselves in the drywall process by starting with the ceiling. Clearly that needs to be done first, but the ceiling is HARD, y'all. Our second mistake was to think we could drywall the ceiling ourselves. As in, just the two of us. My big strong brother has been helping us with this whole thing, but he was busy yesterday and Rob and I actually had time to work so we said What the hell! How hard can it be? Let's try it ourselves.

I'm not going to describe exactly what all went wrong because it would take too long and frankly, it's too embarrassing. But suffice it to say that measuring for a ceiling is damn hard when the room is not quite square and the two people must lift and re-lift and re-re-lift the (increasingly heavy) piece of drywall to see if it fits YET. Suffice it to say that in such a small room, even figuring out how to manipulate the damn piece of drywall so that it is facing the right direction takes a fucking degree in engineering. And geometry. Suffice it to say that two not-stronger-than-the-average-bear people cannot lift over their heads a hefty piece of drywall while one of those people also attempts to screw it in place. And suffice it to say that just when those two people think they have outsmarted the drywall with their awe-inspiring intellect, said piece of drywall will come crashing down upon them in all its heavier-than-thou glory. THREE TIMES.

Throughout this, we had remained a team. It was us versus the piece of shit drywall. The drywall was clearly winning, but we hadn't lost our religion and that counts for something. But at some point, I noticed that the drywall was not flush against a board that it needed to be against. And I pointed this out to Rob.

"Hon, when we were holding it in place, the drywall wasn't even touching that board over there."

"Where?"

"Over there." And I gestured to the board.

"Which board? Which board wasn't it touching?"

"THAT one."

Exasperated sigh from Rob. "WHICH board? The board that goes THIS way, or the board that goes THAT way?" He was motioning in the air to define THIS and THAT, but I'll be damned if I could see the difference.

"Um, THAT one." I pointed again in the general direction of the board in a Seriously, how can you NOT see where I'm pointing? way.

"WHICH ONE?!"

"You're being mean," I whined.

"Well you're pissing me off," he responded. The look in his eyes told me he was mad. Well, not mad. I've never really seen him mad. But he was frustrated. Frustrated with the drywall and frustrated, at the moment, with me.

We both sat for a minute to regroup and then moved on to the next thing without another word and without any grudges. The drywall kicked our ass repeatedly until we finally gave up.

To celebrate our utter defeat, we shared a Corona out on the deck. The bruises of the ass-whooping already starting to heal, we relived the worst moments and laughed. We discussed the fact that the only thing we had learned was that two people cannot do this alone. We had lost 4 hours and the piece of drywall, which had suffered too many battle wounds to be used. We had absolutely nothing to show for the experience. "Well," I said, "I find it encouraging that despite how terrible it went, we're still sitting here laughing about it over a Corona."

"True."

"And next time, I'll say the board along the dining room wall, 'kay?"

"Ohhhh...you meant THAT board?!"

J and H are friends of ours from high school who are married and live a few hours away. J was the best man in our wedding. In August, they are moving back to this area and Rob and I couldn't be more elated. (And not just because their house will have cable and high speed internet.)

J sent Rob an email on Thursday to say that they would be in town Monday and Tuesday working on remodeling the house they're moving into, and we should get together while they're here. Rob read it to me, we agreed we wanted to see them, and then we let it drop. Friday I asked Rob, "Hey, did you email J back?" He hadn't. Saturday morning I said, "You emailed J yet?" He hadn't. This morning Rob was outside working and, knowing he certainly still hadn't gotten around to emailing J, I figured I'd just take care of it myself. J had sent the message to Rob, so I logged into Rob's email so I could reply directly to it. I wrote the message like I thought Rob would write it and signed the message as Rob because that was simpler than explaining to J why I was sending the message from Rob's account instead of Rob.

Then I skipped outside and said to Rob, "Hey, I just emailed J for you."

"Huh? I emailed him yesterday."

"You did?"

"Yeah. Why are you laughing?"

"Well, I sorta sent it as you."

"What? Why would you do that?"

"Well, it was easier to reply to his message than start from scratch, and then it was easier to sign as you than explain why I was sending from your account and...."

"Well great, now he thinks I'm senile! You're going to have to email him yet again and explain the whole thing." Which of course I did, the subject being Rob is senile.

But the funniest part of it all was when Rob and I compared the two messages we'd each sent to J.

What Rob wrote:

J,

-Rob

What I wrote as "Rob":

J,

-Rob

Do I know my man or what?

I'll give you 3 seconds to guess what isn't working. 1...2...3...

If you guessed the GODDAMN FUCKING AIR CONDITIONER, you were right.

There is snow in our basement. Oh, the irony of it all. There is some sort of leak causing some sort of clog causing ice and snow to build up around the coils. All of this is causing the A/C to NOT WORK. AGAIN. Rob did internet research to troubleshoot the problem while I sat in the corner, rocking back and forth and crying. I'm in the midst of a major meltdown right now, of both the temperature and emotional kinds.

And of course it's a fucking 3-day weekend. Of course it is.