And that’s why we can’t have nice things…

We raised three boys. That should be enough of an explanation for the title but I feel like I should probably give you a little more than that. I’ve already written about our house fire (Read Here) spurred on by a candle, a stack of newspaper and an emotional girlfriend. I don’t believe I have shared about our Bathroom Remodel from the year Eric’s mother became ill. So settle in…

Eric’s mother was hospitalized in 2005. After failing to contact her by phone, we drove to Tucson to check on her. We found her very ill, malnourished and dehydrated. As she lived on an unpaved road that would have been difficult for an ambulance to find, we carried her down to the car and drove her to the ER. This started weekly flights back and forth to Tucson with our three boys left at home. I know you already know where this is headed. Nowhere good.

The boys were all in their teens at this point and seemed somewhat responsible? This was prior to one of them trying to burn the house down. We had no frame of reference. On one trip to Tucson, we received a call from our youngest son.

“Mom…I fell in the shower and hit my head. I’m so sorry but I put a hole in the wall!”

I feel that I responded in typical Mom fashion, “OMG! HOW’S YOUR HEAD???? Do you need to go to the ER? Are you OK?”

The reply came a bit too quickly which should have been a sign. “No, I’m fine. But there is a hole in the tile. I just wanted you to know.”

“Ok – We’ll be back tonight. It’s OK as long as you’re alright.”

We flew home and I surveyed the damage…first to my sons head. No damage. Not a mark. Not a bruise. Not a goose-egg. Just an ineffective frontal lobe.

I surveyed the bathroom. Our bathroom is small – the house was

built in 1960. The front bathroom had a shower/tub…with a window. The hole in the tile was directly below…the window. I looked at the hole…looked at my son…and went to bed. It seemed prudent to discuss this with the boys alone and allow my husband, whose mother was ill, the momentary fantasy that nothing sinister had happened in our absence.

This picture is after the remodel but will give an idea of where the hole was. Seem plausible?

The next day, Eric had Reserve duty. I grabbed the boys, looked them in the eye and said, “Now…what actually happened in the bathroom! NO LIES…NO STRETCHING THE TRUTH…”

“I fell…I told you!”

“Let’s look at the hole in the wall. Did you DUCK as you went into the shower? WERE You BACKING IN to the shower? DID you TRIP over the TUB???? HOW would YOUR HEAD hit THAT SPOT?”

And the truth started spilling out. A party. A drunk guy in the shower…kicking the wall. I’m not sure we’ve heard the whole truth on that one but we did arrange for a ‘babysitter’ for all remaining trips. Fortunately, as we called someone in to fix the damage, we learned that there was a leak behind the wall and the hole was actually an oddly disguised blessing. We ended up doing a complete bathroom remodel…that survived about six months.

Then I got another call about how the shower door “just jumped off the tracks and burst into a thousand pieces!!” See I Don’t Know How That Happened!

And that’s why we can’t have nice things.

The boys have all moved out now and we have yet to repair all the damage. We keep saying that we will get around to it but I think we’ve adjusted…to a burn in the floor…half a shower door…and the memories that hit when we look at look at the scars this house has endured. Maybe it’s nostalgia. Maybe it’s the fact that one of the boys visited the other day…and broke the handle on the non-working microwave in the first ten minutes of his visit.

We raised three boys. Who needs nice things? I have nice things.

They are the three boys.