Even if I've said this, it bears repeating that when I say "we," I generally mean the opposite of the royal we. I mean that RDC did it. That doesn't mean I don't do anything, though.
We rewired the kitchen to distribute the amperage more safely and sensibly, added a junction box in the attic to be wired eventually to another circuit in the breaker box, drywalled over holes we'd cut for the wiring and supports for the hood, patched the ceiling, decided to forego the track lighting for now because it was complicated enough to be affecting the timeline; swapped out the kitchen storm for the screen, emptied RDC's closet for attic access and rehung everything, primed both sides of the shelves--tricky because they're all slatted and prone to beading, not to mention requiring scraping and razoring of all the previous beading--and one side of the doors, swept out the kitchen (once), tidied up my study and the laundry room and the garage and the furnace room, did a lot of laundry, scrubbed the buddy cage, knocked together a couple of shelves to use my study closet space more effectively, read 90 pages of The Stone Raft (the dog showed up! its name hasn't been decided yet, either Faithful or Pilot), and listened to several hours of War and Peace. I did the things after the semi-colon. And we both went to Mezcal, a new restaurant! a good one! with atmosphere, and not nearly as low-rent as most of the stuff on our stretch of Colfax (such as the adult bookstore and arcade across the street)! that I like! that was hopping! and walked by a new, Climbing Tree be praised, bookstore; and we saw that a yoga studio is slated to open next to Witz coffee shop; and we watched "Holes."
Also I took two "West Side Story" breaks, half yesterday and half today, because Blake cannot help in the kitchen or with primer and was feeling quite neglected. The instant I sat back on my heels to gauge books on the bookshelf, he scrabbled from my shoulder to under my chin, clearly requesting snuggling and attention. This evening after his supper and some playing in his box, he returned to the under-chin spot and tucked immediately.
RDC's new headphones are amazing. I tried them once, and the sound quality was great, plus I heard no external noise at all. I saw RDC's mouth moving but heard not a damn thing besides Susan Tedeschi so assumed he was gaslighting me. He waved a bandana in front of Blake, who of course yelled, and then I believed. I could not use my iPod while scrubbing the cage so instead played "West Side Story," loudly, over the washing machine between me and the den and the jigsaw in the kitchen. RDC came downstairs after one tool or another while I jigged from here to there doing this and that. "What are you dancing to?" he asked, loudly over Robert Randolph or Moe or Umphrey's McGee or whatever he was listening to--all he could see was me prancing without aid of headphones. "The dance at the gym!" I replied, probably meaninglessly to him who, sadly, is not a "West Side Story" fan.