Who Does What at the Craig House Part 2

Okay, I told you guys that I was going to do more job allocations this week. Maybe you have all had a chance to think about some of your own job titles.



BUG IDENTIFIER:

This is a rather new job in the Craig household. It was just brought to my attention last week. I’m in my office, probably either writing a blog or a novel, and I hear hubby yell out. “Baby, you gotta come see this!” Although, that is one of his favorite “come on” lines, this wasn’t about sex. I met him in the kitchen and he held out his arm for my inspection. Now, it’s a nice arm, but I’m not overly impressed until I see the little pea-size fuzz ball moving up his forearm.

I lean in to check out the moving fuzz ball and hubby asks, “What is it?”

I look up at him and then down at the traveling wooly insect and I say, “I don’t know, but it appears to have a tiny stinger coming out of its little fuzzy butt and if I was you, I’d get it off now.”

Hubby, thinking he’s just discovered some new species, says, “But it’s so cute.”

A second later, it stopped being so cute, when the “Fuzzy SOB” stung him with the stinger that I had already pointed out. Although, I will admit I was not able to identify the bug, I was smart enough to identify a stinger, and I had a good laugh, too. Hubby had a nice little welt on his arm, but lived “not” to tell about it. Because telling about things, is definitely my job.

SPIDER CATCHER & BEE SHOOER:

Now, while I can get nose to nose with most insects, I have a rather negative attitude of two insect type creatures. For good reason, of course. I’m allergic to bees and spiders. Bees make swell up like a balloon, including the swelling of airways, and it makes breathing kind of difficult. And hey, breathing is important.

Spiders have an even more profound and faster effect on me. They don’t even have to bite me, all I have to do is see one and bam! I’m pissing in my pants from fear. It’s something about those eight legs.

So when the sound of buzzing arrives, hubby takes over in all “shooing” duties. When a spider arrives, hubby becomes my super hero saving his woman from having to change her pants.


SNAKE REMOVER:

Now, what do snakes not have? Legs. Honey, I’ll take anything that slithers on its belly over something that creeps along on eight legs any day of the week. Now, I’m not saying I like them, but I’m just saying that my pants don’t need changing when I see one. And if one shows up inside, which they do two or three times a year, I can take over the role of snake catcher. If Junior, who holds the official “human” Snake Catcher title, isn’t around, or one of the “feline” snake catchers hasn’t already done the job, I can step up to the plate.

Now, Junior has such a reputation that he even gets calls from neighbors to come remove the slithering creatures from their homes. They generally pay him $10 for the job. I know most of you think it’s a bargain, too.

Just last week, I hear some ruckus going on in the kitchen. Considering I’m alone in the house, with the exception of the felines, I went to see what had my cats bumping into things.

Right away, I see Old Henry, prancing around the kitchen with a three foot Ribbon snake dangling from his mouth, both sides wiggling and one side trying to bite him. Old Henry sees me and comes over to show me his latest toy. Now I start doing the high step dance, trying to prevent the snake from biting me. Hey, at least my pants are still dry.

Finally the cat drops the snake, and I herd all four cats out of the room, and get my tools: the broom and the dustpan. The poor snake, relieved to no longer be acting as the cat’s play toy, practically climb on top of the dustpan. I let him go in the back yard where I swear he blew snake kisses at me as he slithered away.


LOST AND FOUND MANAGER:

Now, I seriously don’t know why I’ve been given this job. Since when is it my job to find everything they lose? “Mom, have you seen my shoes?”

My answer, “The last time I wore them was . . . wait, I haven’t ever wore them!”

“Hey, hon’ have you seen my keys?”

“The last time I used them . . oh, wait, I haven’t used them.”

“Hey, hon’ have you seen my sunglasses.”

“Well, the last time I wore them was . . . wait, are they not on top of your head?”

It’s not that I’m really good at this, it’s that they are that bad at it.


FEVER CHECKER AND ALL AROUND NURSE:

What is it about having breasts that makes men think you have a medical license? I never, not once, considered working in the health care field. I don’t like blood. I don’t even like being around sick people. Sure, I admit I slapped a few band aids on boo-boos when the kids were small, (they were cute then) but does that have to mark me for life? Not too long ago I found my nineteen-year-old son in my bed hacking and with a fever and he says something like, “Can you rub my head? And get me some soup?”

I’m like, “Do NOT cough on my pillow and get your fever-laden butt out of my bed!” I did bring him some soup, in his bed.

Now, hubby is just as bad. Several years ago, he got a really bad staph infection in his knee. We’re talking hospitalized, and an IV tube for antibiotics put straight into his heart to prevent the infection from spreading to his ticker. After three days in the hospital, (Which by the way my husband detests) the doctor says, “I can let you go home if you have someone we can train to flush out your IV tube two times a day and then you can come to the hospital to get your antibiotics every evening.

Now, while I’m a sitting there wondering who we could get to train to flush out hubby’s IV, he volunteers moi. Did I tell you that it went to his heart? Did I tell you I had to, like, wear rubber gloves after scrubbing myself down with anti-germ soap? I nearly passed out every time I had to flush out said tube.

The kicker was when after doing this for four days, hubby looks up at me and asks, “Do you enjoy doing this?”

Enjoy it? Was he freaking nuts? Okay, sure I had been hiding my repulsion (much like I hid my repulsion of delivering chickens soup to my son when he had the flu.) And while flushing out my hubby’s heart tube, I had managed not to pass out from fear that I might do something wrong and kill the man, but where in his messed up mind did he think I enjoyed it.

Oh, but I pulled my big girl panties up, did the right thing, smiled and said, “I’d do anything for you.”

“Really?” he asked. “That’s sweet, but I don’t think I could do this for you!”

I almost kicked him in his bad knee.

Yup. But you see I have breasts, so that just means all nurse-related issues are my job.

Okay, there you have it. A few more chore/assignments. So do share a bit. What chores to you really hate? What chores do you like?