A co-worker mentioned today that she was mildly dismayed when her 2 1/2 year old daughter recently declared, "I'm a girl. I'm not a boy. Boys fix fire engines." This despite having a very adept mom who in fact handles most of their household repairs, many of which in fact come at the hands of her tool-challenged husband. "How does this gender stuff get ingrained so early?" she asked slightly incredulously.
I don't know, but I hope our child will see that girls can fix fire engines or anything else, if they put their mind to it. To that end, I'm documenting for posterity my own power tool packin' ways so the bundle-to-be will see that even in-utero, she and her mom were comfortable fixin' broke stuff.
Case in point: our carport light went out last week and we hadn't made time to get it fixed. I did manage to pick up a replacement, but that was about it. After more than a week of putting off the task, fumbling with my key in the dark and not wanting to wait any longer, I took advantage of the 75 degree evening to do some home improvement, pregnancy and all. It took one light, one drill, four drill bits of increasing size (I kept underestimating the size of the screw and expander), two screwdrivers, one pen for marking holes, and one hour of my time. But we've got light, I didn't incur any injuries, and I'm feeling pretty pleased with the result. Guess those high school auto mechanics and woodworking classes are still paying dividends. My child-to-be will either be mildly amused by this memento or use it as proof that I've been a very capable but total dork for a very long time.