A woman's work is never done

After three days of Alaska-time home improvement, I was sick of it. I couldn't hear the TV...what, with the sounds of electric saws, air compressors, and men working until 2 am (10 pm in Virgil's world), I was finding it impossible to enjoy my time off. Don't get me wrong, I was doing my part. I would wander upstairs occasionally to "ooooo" and "ahhhh." I pretended to understand the differences in dry wall application techniques. "This one will save us hours in sanding," Brad explained. Sold. I valiently tried to resist rolling my eyes when I was asked to run errands. But this was too much.

"Amy," my husband said softly as I stared at the screen, "I hate to bother you but we have a bit of a time-crunch on our hands here." Apparently, my brother-in-law would selfishly have to return to Alaska in just a few short hours, flying to the North Slope (which, by the way, I believe is a fabricated destination located just to the right of the North Pole) to work for three weeks before he could go home to Kenai and they weren't done with their project yet. I blinked. How was this possible? They'd worked non-stop for 72 hours while I had worked hard to stay out of their way.

It always comes down to this, doesn't it? A woman's work is never done. Without complaint, I went upstairs and began taping off designated areas, getting a well-established lead on Brad and Virgil so that they could follow, uninterrupted. Several hours later, I smiled, looking at the finished project, feeling the pride of a well-completed job. They couldn't have done it without me.