Penny

I've been talking to Dad for nearly two months now, about him helping us finish our attic enough to store crap up there. Every time, it's been a similar conversation.

"We don't have to do it all at once," he says. "We can just get the plywood one trip, and cut it the next, and take it up to the attic the next. No hurry."

Yeah, right.

We finally got organized and decided that he should come over yesterday to help us out. He picked up the plywood from the lumberyard Friday evening and loaded it into his truck, along with his ladder, sawhorses, circular saw, and toolbox.

And then waited for us to call. According to Mom, he was Ready To Go at 9:00. Matt had just finished his shower (as in, was still towelling off) at 11 when he finally gave up and called us. "You 'bout ready?" he asked. "Daylight's a-wastin'!"

"Matt just got out of the shower," I said.

"Okay!" he said. "We're headed over, then!"

I had not yet taken a shower, so I ran up the stairs and grabbed a quick one. Dad's Projects wait for no man. Or woman. Showered or not.

He brought Mom with him, so she and I sat in the living room and talked while Matt and Dad played with power tools. There was sawing and hammering and clambering and all kinds of peculiar noise. They discovered that the builders who built our house had never intended the attic to be used for storage, as they hadn't bothered to recess pipes or wires. So they had to run up to the hardware store to get some doohickeys to protect the wires. And while they were there, they got some other Stuff. (Including a ladder, so we can get up there without making my Dad bring us his.)

After about four hours or so, Matt came downstairs and said, "We've reached a point where we need your help."

My help? I don' know nothin' 'bout buildin' no attics!

"No, no. We've finished. We're ready to start moving stuff up there."

"There isn't anything to go up there, yet. We haven't boxed anything."

But Dad was determined, so I tromped upstairs and helped Matt find some stuff to go into the attic. Two old desktop Macs that haven't been turned on in a year or more. Our two old VCRs. Two boxes' worth of old bills and paperwork. And way more empty boxes than I'd ever thought we had.

Proud of his work, Dad offered to let me climb up and take a look at the attic. I hate ladders - not going up so much as coming down - but he looked so proud, I didn't have the heart to say no. They'd covered a huge space. (Sure enough, coming back down the ladder, I got to the last step and the stupid thing tipped backwards on me, despite Matt and Dad both hovering protectively.)

Then I stepped back while Matt clambered up, and Dad started handing stuff up to him. (The entry hole to the attic is far too small to take stuff up with you. Getting stuff in and out is going to be a two-person job forever.)

After hefting up a rather heavy old desktop Mac high enough for Matt to lean down and grab it, Dad fixed me with a firm stare. "You are not going to carry stuff up there," he said sternly. "When you've got more stuff to go up, you'll call me to come and help."

"Well, I can probably hand up some lighter-"

"You will call me to come and help!"

"Or Braz," Matt interjected helpfully.

"Or Braz, or someone," Dad conceded. "But not you."

I learned my lesson about lifting heavy things a month or so ago, when we got the bookcases. "I won't," I promised Dad. "Well, maybe some of those empty boxes. They don't weigh anything."

Dad gave me the Look. "I'd be happy to come over and help," he said pointedly.

(Gotta love my Dad. He's protecting both his baby and his grandbaby, there. Naturally he's got to be extra super protective.)

Then, because Dad was too excited about having been able to do a Project and didn't want to go home yet, he helped Matt sweep out the garage, hang the hose-holder so we could get the hoses off the floor, and (as long as he was hanging things) put up a hook for my (broken) bike rack.

By the time Mom finally chivvied Dad home, Matt was starting to look a little wild around the eyes.

There are reasons we only let Dad do these things on rare occasions.