Well, the hailstorm did a job on our roof. The insurance guys came and climbed upon the roof and circled hits with chalk, and took pictures, and told us it is time to replace the twenty-year old shingles. The hail pounded the plastic top off the attic fan so we had this big gapping hole for critters, rain, and ventilation.
I have started calling roofers. Looking for estimates. Dear husband will want to do it right, which means he will want to do it himself. But, I'd like to know what he is saving us so that I can appreciate my hero he-man.
I have a confession to make. I sleep with my Sunday School teacher, my lawn mower man, my handy-man, my tree trimmer, and my roofer....call me a slut, but they are all the same MAN. Dear husband wears many hats, and its my job to nag him not to forget that hat or he'll get a sunburn on his head. He swears I scorched his hair off kissing it, and he lets me be his barber---so you could say that Bob sleeps with his barberess. (and his cook and laundress and housekeeper)
Jobs begat jobs. While the roof needs replaced, we might as well re-wire, install new insulation, and replace rotten drip edge wood...and that "we" is really Mr. Handyman's job. I will fetch the gatorade, fetch the food, wash the sweaty, dirty construction clothing, and even fetch an occassional tool---if he knows where it is in the garage, and which shape describes it so that I can understand.
When Bob installed the present roof, I found out I was pregnant with Ben, and conveyed that happy news to the handyman/husband on the roof. A visiting "consultant" (friend not good with tools) blessed Bob with, "way to go, stud!" That helps us remember how old the shingles are, and while Bob took out a dormer and re-shingled a section when Ben was in third or fourth grade, we can date that section, too.
Always something with a house. Always something to repair, that is !