Mr. Fixit

There were, when we moved in to our new apartment, many, many things that needed to be fixed. The furnace and hot water heater were both leaking (carbon monoxide and water, respectively); the walls and ceiling were cracked and/or crumbling, the locks could be opened with a credit card, and so on. We did the big things before we moved in, and have been doing more little things since, gradually, as we get to them. But as of last week, we were still left with a number of small but annoying things that needed to be fixed that I just couldn't do without tools, or that I couldn't do because I didn't know how, or that I knew I wouldn't be able to do a good job on. We needed a Fixit Man.

So, when I got a flyer in the mail during Yom Tov advertising the services of a local Fixit Man, I put it aside. And on Monday, I called him, and he came over later that afternoon. I showed him the dangerous-to-toddlers laundry chute, the two smoke detectors that needed to be installed, the doorknob to Barak's room that could be locked from the inside (bad bad), and the dripping bathtub tap. I also pointed out the wet spot in the basement ceiling drywall--not the soaking wet spot that was there when we moved in, but another, much smaller drip that MHH had noticed while doing laundry (because he does the laundry, because he's great). And I pointed out the incredibly annoying sliding door to the bathtub, which is not only impossible to clean but makes it unnecessarily difficult to bathe a small child. He nodded, grunted a few times, and went out to his car to get his tools.

His tools. Now, I don't think I've said anything about Barak's recent fascination with tools. He has two toy hammers, a screwdriver, a coping saw, a drill, and a workbench with some nails that he can bang in and pull out (this last representing the best two bucks I ever spent at a yard sale.) He loves all of them, and spends a lot of time fixing things in his room with his hammers and screwdriver, and then showing me his handiwork very proudly. He is definitely a fan of tools. So...

When Mr. Fixit came back into the house with an enormous honest-to-goodness power drill, Barak went totally silent. I asked him to hold my hand, just to keep him out of trouble, and he held my hand with no objections (not his usual response). We followed Mr. Fixit around the house, a traveling audience, as he removed and replaced Barak's doorknob, bolted shut the laundry chute, and put in two more smoke detectors (bringing the total in our five-room home to, um, seven, not counting the four in the basement. "I think you're pretty well protected," Mr. Fixit commented dryly.) He looked at the bathtub, and went down to the basement, and came back up to run the water, and went back down again, and came back up to say he needed to bring another guy the next day, because it was a two-person job. And yes, he could take off the shower door and put in a rod, no problem.

Yesterday, that's what he did. And Barak stood in the hall, holding my hand and watching him in total, complete awe, his mouth literally hanging open, as Mr. Fixit used his drill to take off the shower door frame, remove the two glass doors, and take the base off the top of the tub. He stood there in fascinated silence for a full twenty-five minutes, observing. Until he saw Mr. Fixit get a screwdriver out of his box. Then he pulled his hand out of mine, ran to his room, and screamed in the direction of his screwdriver (which was, for some reason, on the top of his bookshelf.) I got it for him, he ran back to the hall, offered me his screwdriverless hand, and stood there staring and clutching his screwdriver for the next I don't know how long.

So, now we have a shower curtain instead of a door, and the tap doesn't drip, and the bathroom window closes and latches, and you get all the water out of the shower when you shower instead of having half of it pour out the bottom tap. All very good things. And last night, Barak got a bath in his bathtub, with Abba able to supervise much more easily. And then he went to bed, where he slept very well, dreaming, probably, of power tools.