(Oh, man. I told myself this was NOT going to be a gloating post.)
Let's rewind to last Friday night, so you can get the full impact of the story I'm about to tell.
Mom came by to get Anna Marie and take her out to dinner - and I did not object, because, remember we'd had a hard week with sickness and behavior problems and such like that.
A couple of hours later, mom called to say that they'd had dinner, they'd gone grocery shopping at Wal-Mart, and Anna Marie had bought some stuff to eat at Gramma's house. Therefore, mom would be having red headed company overnight.
Again, no argument here.
About 8:00, they stopped by our house to get AM some clothes. When they left, Jason immediately started trying to rearrange the living room.
(I know that very few of you out there in Blogland have ever been to my house, but it's small. Like, about 1,000 square feet. And there are two floor furnaces, one in the hallway, and one in the living room. He's been trying for three years now to figure out how to rearrange the furniture in the living room so that we can use that heater. At present, there is too much furniture too close to it to do so safely.)
Anyway. I informed him that I'd been working all week, and taking care of a sick kid, and trying ever-more-complicated behavior modification techniques on her. And I was not, repeat, not spending my Friday night moving furniture.
He was not, repeat, not happy with me. But he didn't move any furniture, either.
(Let me also explain that we have a large picture window, which I refuse to put anything in front of. And our living room is rectangular, with part of that rectangle serving as the dining area. So, in reality, we have only two walls on which to place furniture. The couch is across from the window, and the entertainment center is on the other wall. A chair is at a right angle to the couch, with a round table between the two seating places. There is also a rug, an ottoman, and a square coffee table in front of the two.)
Fast forward to last night.
After being at the auction all day for the two previous days, he got a bee in his bonnet to move the furniture again. I didn't think it was a good idea, but I let him go ahead.
He got the couch and the entertainment center switched, and proceeded to plug the electronics up on the new wall. That's when the fuse blew. Yes, we live in a really old house, and have a fuse box. He had extra fuses on hand, but he said the outlet looked faulty. So, since he was already in his PJs, I drove around the corner to pick up a new outlet.
He installed the outlet, changed the fuse, and hooked everything back up. Except, the satellite wouldn't receive a signal. Anna Marie came into the room, and wanted to watch TV, so I took her to my room.
Same story. Apparently, the fuse blowing also knocked out the dish's ability to get a signal.
He got on the horn to DirecTV, and they gave him a couple of options to try - in lieu of a $70 minimum service call, of course. He determined that part of the dish was out, and he would fix it today. Did he tell them about the blown fuse? No!
Except - it wasn't that part at all. He spent most of the day climbing on and off the roof (did I mention it's raining here?) and changing out parts. And now, he has to exchange the part, because it wasn't that part at all. He blew out the cable that runs to the dish.
He had a little extra cable, and ran that so we'd be able to watch at least one TV tonight - except that we weren't home tonight. We met Amanda at the Spaghetti Warehouse for a pre-Thanksgiving bowl of pasta.
Oh, and the rearranged living room? It's been ditched, because he found out what I already knew - that his design wouldn't work anyway. No room for the chair where we thought it would go. So now everything is back where it was.
Last night, as we were getting ready for bed, he said, "Go ahead and say it. Say that you didn't want that furniture moved in the first place."
Who, me, gloat?