DIY doggie style

We have never been the sort to divide household chores along traditional gender lines. Whoever cooks (usually me, but only because I love to cook), is excused from dish duty. If I take on dusting on a Saturday morning, Chris takes the floors. Trash duty belongs to whoever is headed outside when it needs to go. I even mowed my first lawn this past summer—and liked it. (Though I admit, I always like chores that provide immediate gratification: "Look what I just did! It was long grass and now it's short grass!! I'm amazing!")

But it never occurred to us that we might also be able to split chores and DIY projects in our new home along human/canine lines as well. Truth be told, we assumed that the absence of opposable thumbs would really limit our dogs' abilities to assist in most chores and projects. Apparently it's a common misconception. Since purchasing our fixer-upper, we've learned that Téa has very definite opinions about decorating. We've also discovered a variety of unexpected tasks at which T2 excel, including but not limited to:

kitchen renovation,

"I'm telling you, fuchsia has never, ever been the fashion for cabinetry. Work with me on this, please."

closet organization,

"Nope. If you put a shoe rack in here there will definitely not be enough space leftover in which to nap. So that's a no on the shoe rack."

plumbing,

 

"It's righty-tighty, Dad, righty-tighty. You're going the wrong way! Here, let me do it."

painting, 

"All right. Enough horsing around with that camera. We've got a lot of work to get through today and I can't hold this paint brush on my own, you know."

and project management.

"Break time's over there, missy. Chop chop—back to work."

So the good news is, we ought to get this place in tip-top shape much more quickly than we had anticipated!

Decorating: Not impressed

We purchased a fixer-upper this past summer. I'm glad there is a cute name for it—it's less depressing than saying we purchased a complete wreck of a house which will need virtually everything except the studs (and maybe even some of those) updated and/or repaired.

I'm also glad that there is a multi-million dollar industry in place to support people like us. There are books, magazines, big box stores, videos and  disastrous reality TV shows to show us what to do, what not to do and to remind us that we are not alone.

We are not making progress as quickly as a Type A like me would prefer, though this is not unexpected. So currently I focus on celebrating the little things: "One electrical outlet in the kitchen was replaced today! We now have one outlet that may not kill me when I use it! Let's whip out the hand mixer!" "One of the weeds in the weed garden turned out to be Greek oregano—hooray!" "Some day way in the future when we get around to addressing the dining room, I have bookmarked the perfect chandelier that we will purchase and install!" It's a bit pathetic, but it keeps me going. 

One of my latest "Hooray!" moments came when I realized we had made enough progress on the bathroom that I could warrant purchasing a small rug for it (trust me, it was not rug-worthy for the first several months we were here). I brought our new rug home, carefully cut off the tags, patted myself on the back when I noticed it didn't get stuck under the door when the door was opened or closed, placed it this way and that until I had it just right and then I wandered off to make myself a celebratory cup of tea.

On my way past the bathroom a few minutes later, this is what I found:

"I'll help you hide this hideous rug until you come to your senses."

Apparently, Téa has decided that the new rug fails miserably as a rug and is trying to spare me the embarrassment. I know this because she has taken to wadding it up into a tiny ball every day and then tries to make it disappear by flinging herself on it so there is barely a bit of fluff visible to confirm its existence.

Maybe next time I'll just take her shopping with me so I can get her opinion up front...