Professional Tiler

I think I may have found a new career. I mean, I thought I was excited when I became a housewife, but this......I don't know. It makes me a little nervous to think that I may have missed my calling in life.

What is it, you may ask? A fire chief, like Heather? A cow viagra salesman, like Meredith? Or a magician/cocktail waitress, perhaps, like my brother Rob. Close, but no.

I believe I was born to be a ceramic tile installer. If you know anyone who does this for a living, then you have probably heard them complain about how hard it is. Such backbreaking work and quite slow-going at times. Don't believe them. They're only looking for sympathy.

I spent the better part of this week as Jack's assistant while he tiled the floor at our spec house. -Side note- If anyone is looking to buy a beautiful house just outside of town but still in the school district, reasonably priced with a great floor plan and on a large lot, let's talk. Have I got the deal of a lifetime for you. (Meredith and Philip are not the only salesmen in our family.)

But I digressed. As I was saying, I spent Monday-Wednesday laying 850 sq. feet of ceramic tile. And boy was I good at it. The first day was a little rough, because I hadn't quite figured out how to do it properly. I almost couldn't walk on Tuesday because I was so sore. But Taskmaster Jack dragged me back to work anyway, and bless his heart for making me go. Now I know what I've been missing.

You just have to figure out the right way to do it. I know what you're thinking. "Emily! You've been laying tile while 9 months pregnant?? How incredibly brave and strong you must be! I wish I had your strength and stamina!" Well, thank you, but I really don't deserve all that praise. Most of it, but probably not all of it. Allow me to share my wisdom with the rest of you. This is the way it is properly done.

A. Take a comfortable chair.
B. Take another chair, level of comfortableness not so important here, as this one is for propping your feet on.
C. Have snacks and cell phone within arms reach, in case you get hungry/bored.
D. Have someone else (Jack is really good at this) tile the floor while you make helpful suggestions. I've included a few for you first timers:

1. I think you may have missed a spot.
2. Don't forget to clean that baseboard behind you.
3. That line isn't very straight. Maybe you should go back and do that one again.
4. Didn't you just take a break like 4 hours ago? (you can't let the person who is doing the actual work slack off too much. It just makes you look bad.)

After I figured out how tiling is supposed to work, I enjoyed it a whole lot more. I kept busy handing Jack sponges so he could keep his work area clean. That was my most important job. I sat with my feet propped up and a bucket of water next to me. He would hand me a dirty sponge. I would clean it, squeeze it out, and wait for him to yell, "SPONGE!" Then I would hand it back to him.

And he even taught me how to use his tile cutter, so he could yell out measurements and I could mess them up. Math never was my best subject. I did cut a few pieces that turned out beautifully, but most of the time, I just created more work for Jack as he had to come behind me and fix my mistakes.

Regardless, if my career as a mom doesn't work out, I can always drop the kids off at daycare and go back to my first love. Watching Jack work, that is.

Also, watching Jack break his back this week inspired me to write another poem, this one dedicated to my husband. It's called "My Husband" by Emily Redwood. I know, I'm excited too. Here it is.

You broke your back, you hurt your knees, but you tiled the floor.
Your name is Jack.
A tiler from heaven, but you are a roofer too.
Selfishly, I try to keep you home, while the heat eats away at your employees' organs, like an unstoppable rebel force.
But I can keep you inside the AC no longer, as the tiling is finished. And I shall squeeze your sponges nevermore, nevermore, nevermore...until we tile again in heaven.