It started early, but it started right; sort of. I woke up having slept over 8 hours for the first time in so long I can’t even remember. This “wake up slow” feeling inspired all sorts of good ideas…like playing fetch with Duke while eating fruit for breakfast. I even had my very own piece of Sunshine come over, all excited about going to volunteer.
Then, right around 11am, I realized my father was right…again: I really don’t know how to use a hammer.
No matter how many days I volunteer with Habitat, or how many houses I participate in tearing down or building up, my father insists that I am incapable of physical labor. I of course, have always argued that I am perfectly capable of completing difficult manual tasks, though perhaps no expert at doing so. Well, let me reiterate, three humongous blisters later (one each on my right thumb, index, and middle, finger), that I was wrong.
Despite having worn my previously stained “painting pants” to the work site, I decided to be adventurous and forego painting to try my hand at roofing. By some miracle, probably because Habitat work days start with a prayer, I managed to stay on the roof. However, I was personally responsible for a number of mishaps. I skipped shingles and had to remove others (just to replace the ones I’d forgotten). I threw out, after having bent them, more nails than I actually nailed in. As if these things, along with the blisters, weren’t enough, I managed to DROP a HAMMER! I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried. As I finished yelling “watch out,” we heard the unmistakable knock of something hard hitting a hard hat. None other than the Habitat employed project leader looked up and re-educated 10 people (other roofing volunteers), all because of me, on the importance of holding “your hammer firmly” and what would’ve happened if not for his hard hat.
Despite my ridiculously low pain threshold, and the fact that poor Sunshine had to leave the roof TWICE to get me band-aids, I stuck to my guns! I came home and had others build my picnic table (brief moment of sanity), cleaned my place extensively, and bathed my puppy.
It wasn’t until around 8pm of this marvelously interesting day that I realized I kinda wished I was still eight. If I had been eight, I would’ve insisted that mom allow me to take a shower with my injured hand sticking out of the shower. Instead, I had to brave the awful sensation of water running through a blister (or three), because I refused to let the bathroom I’d just finished cleaning get soaking wet.
::sigh:: I’m exhausted…but going to bed smiling. Duke…whose head is currently resting near the mouse pad of my laptop, also seems tired but content.