Ben's Little Temper Tantrum

Ben, Patience and I made a haul to Lowe's in Ft. Smith last week.  And it really was a haul.  Remember, Ben is a contractor, so that basically means we never go to Lowe's without the Dodge dually one-ton, the 25-foot flatbed trailer, his Lowe's business credit card (if he uses it he gets a 5% discount - woohoo, thanks, Lowe's), at least 4 hours to spare, and snacks and drinks. 

Yes, we actually take granola bars and bottled water into Lowe's with us.  There are many reasons for this:

1) We are sort of like nerdy home-school-type people, and that's what they do, although I don't go so far as to actually pack sandwiches.  But I've thought about it.  I just can't bring myself to do it.  Its what my mom used to do when I was growing up as a nerdy homeschooling/missionary kid.  We're a little cooler than that.  We just go to Chick-Fil-A. 

2) I'm not going to buy bottled water at Lowe's because I think they want me to.  They keep the thermostat set at like 85 degrees, and when I'm there for 4 hours hauling my pregnant self around on their concrete floors and my feet are swelling and I'm sweating a lot, yeah, I want a bottle of water.  But I'm not going to buy it from them.  They should have complimentary drinks because it isn't my fault they won't turn on the air conditioner.  And we never spend less than $1500 there.  If they won't give me water, I'll bring my own.  But to be fair, it isn't Lowe's fault that my feet swelled.  They didn't make me wear flip-flops.  That was my own bad decision.  I should've worn tennis shoes.  But they should still offer complimentary beverages.

Okay, that's only two reasons.  I thought there were more.

Anyway, we went into Lowe's and got started on Ben's three-page list.  Tile, grout, electrical stuff, kitchen cabinets, doors,lumber.  There was more, but I can't remember.  It was a lot.  Always is.

That reminds me.  Why do people go to Lowe's for like, one little item?  One time I was in Ft. Smith and Ben called, wanting me to go to Lowe's for a bunch of stuff I could actually fit in my car, like welding wire, light fixtures, and a bunch of other random stuff.  I ended up in line behind a cute little old lady who was buying...get this...one can of paint thinner.  Really?  Why?  Just get your paint thinner at Wal-Mart and clear the lines at Lowe's for people like me who have forty-nine carts piled with stuff we can't get at Wal-Mart.  I know I sound hateful, but it took her a really long time to write her check and I was very hot and thirsty and I had forgotten to bring in my bottled water.  I was looking at the water in the coolers at the register, waiting for the nice little lady to pay for her paint thinner, sweating, and refusing to buy water.  And I hadn't wanted to go in the first place, but I'm a good wife and I always help my husband.  It was just a bad combination of things that put me in a bad mood.  Now I feel bad.  The lady can buy her paint thinner at Lowe's if she wants.

But back to last week's trip.  It was Ben's last chance to get everything he needed before serious crunch time to finish the remodel he was working on, so we had to be sure to get EVERYTHING.  Remember, we live an hour and a half from anywhere.  It had to get done.  And it was already nearly five o'clock when we got there.  Also, the poor guy had logged 80 hours in 6 days the week before.  He was tired.  He cannot be blamed for his behavior.

It was a good thing I went with him.  First I recommended we go to the cabinet section and have them start pulling the kitchen cabinets we wanted and taking them to the front.  That didn't go over well with Ben, because cabinets were on page three of his list and we were still on page one.

Let me explain.  Well, how does one explain Ben?  He is...meticulous.  Controlled.  Gentlemanly.  He rarely gets angry or raises his voice.  And he follows his lists carefully.  He doesn't often think outside the box unless he's building a car or a boat or a four-wheeler or a cabin, and then he thinks in wildly creative boxes that I didn't even know existed.  He's sort of a paradox.  But that night at Lowe's he was in a box called Go-Down-The-List-One-Item-At-A-Time.  He was having trouble deviating from that.  My reasoning for wanting to skip to page three (gasp!) was a very good one. 

Another explanation is in order.  When you purchase a large item at Lowe's, one that they have to use the fork lift to take to the front, it takes at least two hours.  I don't understand this.  We've been through it many times, purchasing appliances, cabinets, vanities, etc. The Lowe's employees get very excited and there's usually a lot of running around in their little vests waving their little orange flags in front of the beeping fork lift driven by someone who is also very excited and harnessed up to a lot of safety gear even though he's only two feet from the ground.  There's a lot of chaining off of aisles, more waving of flags, and somehow this process takes two hours.  I always want to tell them to just let Ben do it.  He's get it done in five minutes flat.  There could be death and injuries involved, but by golly it would get done fast and with a lot less drama.   I want to know why they get so excited and why it takes so long.  Its Lowe's, for crying out loud.  Isn't that what Lowe's is all about?  Maybe there really are a lot of people who buy single solitary cans of paint thinner.  No fork lift or flags required.  How boring.

So I explained to Ben, "Babe, let's get them pulling the cabinets now, that way they'll be done by the time we get done.  Right?"

He looked at me, a mild case of stress in his green eyes.

"Babe, cabinets are on page three.  I'm still on page one.  My brain can't go to cabinets yet."

I thought carefully, and decided that this was a time that I had to boss my husband,  mainly because I had just noticed that Patience had taken off her dress and was running around naked.

"Well," I said cheerfully, "Your mind is going to have to go to page three and think about cabinets, otherwise we'll never get out of here.  We'll do the cabinets, then your boxy little brain can go right back to page one where its comfortable." 

I smiled prettily as I said this, gave him a big hug, collected my naked daughter, found her dress on the floor and headed towards the cabinet section, praying that he wouldn't get mad.

He didn't.  He came with me, we told the nice Lowe's people what cabinets we wanted pulled, and watched them commence their evening of excitement with flags and fork lift. 

Then we moved on to the tile section (because tile was back on page one, obviously), where a random stranger rubbed my belly and told me I wasn't going to make it to my due date. During that conversation I noticed that Patience had pulled all the wet wipes out of the case in my bag and was very busily using them to clean the concrete floors. It was disgusting. By this time she looked like a homeless child, she'd burned through all the granola bars, and I had no way to clean her up because she'd used all the wet wipes to clean the floors.  And she drank all my water, leaving me in a bind because we all know I cannot purchase water from Lowe's.  I'd have to drink from the water fountain, which is located all the way at the back of the store by the bathrooms.  Whose idea was that, anyway?  I didn't want to waddle back there, because at this point we were up front in the electrical section counting switch covers.  A lot of them.

We were very close to being done.  On page three, actually, past the kitchen cabinets.  We were standing there, Patience was rolling on the filthy floor, and Ben was marking things off his list.

That's when it happened. 

His mechanical pencil stopped working. 

He clicked and clicked, looked at it, tried another check mark, no luck. 

I decided to be helpful.

"Babe, can't you just, you know, mark it off in your mind and let's move on?"

He glared at me.  "Just a minute, I'll fix it."

Okay.  More angry clicking.  He took it apart, put it back together.  I looked at my phone.  It was 8:30 p.m.  We still had to pay, load, and drive an hour and a half home.  And we'd had nothing but granola bars and bottled water for supper. 

I unwisely decided to speak again.

"Want me to go to the front and get you a pen?"

"Just a minute!"  He barked.  "Its the principal of the thing!  I'll get it working!"

I shut my mouth and watched him fiddle furiously with the pencil.  Then he suddenly snapped the pencil in half, threw it on the floor and strode towards the front of the store.

Patience said, "Uh, oh, Dad!"

I called after him, "Babe, did you just throw a fit?"

"No," he tossed back over his shoulder, "I was just done.  I'm going to get a pen."

I laughed until I cried and I was still laughing when he came back with a pen and marked things off his list.  He took a deep breath and looked at me.

"What's so funny?"

"You!  That was the most controlled temper fit I've ever seen!  Do you feel better now, especially since you got a pen and marked stuff off your list?"

A little grin tugged at the corners of his mouth and he said, "Maybe."

I gave him a hug and a kiss, we finished up, paid, loaded, tied down, and took our filthy homeless-looking child to Chile's for a very late supper where I drank at least three glasses of strawberry lemonade and a lot of water.

Four hours, three thousand dollars, two bottles of water, two packages of granola bars, a dirty dress, a pair of swollen feet, and a broken pencil.

We drove our load home, diesel engine rumbling in the moonlight, tired, but with a sense of accomplishment.