Going Backwards

Yesterday morning we were 99.9 percent done cleaning the basement. We could get through it. We could walk without tripping over anything at all.

The shop door neatly closed. The food cans were within easy reach. It was, for a few days, like gliding through a dream...

I knew this dream was too good to last. Sometime yesterday morning, Dad hammered on the already-unstable upper pantry shelf and sent it crashing into the shelves where our canned food supply is. He didn't damage any of the actual shelves save the one that was already bent to hell anyway.

All of our camping supplies, which were neatly up on the shelf and weren't bothering anyone, are now STACKED IN THE SHOP WE JUST FINISHED CLEANING. And in the doorway of the shop. And here. And there. So, to have room to WALK down there, we must now move them to the unworking van in the yard. The boards my dad had UP on the top shelf and just had to put EVERYWHERE now have to be taken out.

Oh, how I love it when he makes me do more work on purpose...

There's also one last stupid roll of insulation that came down with everything else. Just when I thought we were done with the horrid pink stuff, here comes MORE of it...

And wouldn't you know the guy's supposed to be coming to inspect our basement THIS WEEK and Dad has yet again made a mess down there.

When Mom gets home, we are going to attack that basement with the same ferocity that got the shop clean, and we're going to remove every single board he's stacked down there to the dump. If he keeps it up, we'll have every board he stacked within ten feet of this house taken care of.

My dad messed with the wrong women if he thinks we're giving up.

Ta,
Bec