And the tradition continues . . .

My dad has always been a do-it-yourself type of guy. I can remember dozens and dozens of “projects” he worked on the whole time I was growing up. Some were small, short-term projects, and some were HUGE, longer lasting projects. He and my mom both have always worked hard to make their homes just the way they wanted them to be. They were even willing to make their daughters’ rooms just the way we wanted them, including the chartreuse ceiling. Honestly, I cannot remember a time when they didn’t have some sort of project the were working on. Their most recent endeavor, building their dream house in Cove, is phenominal! They have been in the house for almost 7 years, and I am still in awe of all the hard work and time they put into building it. It truly is BEAUTIUL!

One tradition that was born of all their projects is one that most of us probably wish wasn’t a tradition, actually, we probably wish it didn’t exist at all. I don’t remember the actual incident that started it, but it started when my sister and I were quite young, and has continued annually ever since. The tradition? Well, that would be the one where my dad has a “minor” accident and ends up in the emergency room. There you have it, folks, our tradition is one of trips to the ER with my dad. I think the Grande Ronde Hospital should name its Emergency Department after him!

You have the simple injuries like hitting your knee with a chainsaw, to the more complicated ones like twisting your ankle chasing the cat in the yard resulting in such significant ligament and tendon damage you end up having surgery with a specialist in Vancouver. Let’s see, there was the year he broke his collarbone (two years in a row, actually) playing softball, one year he drilled his palm with a dove-tail drill bit, countless stitches, multiple bandages, and many braces.

The biggest one that is the most clear in my mind is the year he blew up the burning barrell and spent two weeks in the hospital in isolation with severe burns. That was the year that he tore the back porch off our house in La Grande to put an addition on. I remember all his friends coming over to work on the re-model while he was in the hospital and recovering. I think I was probably only 9 or 10, I don’t remember for sure.

So, the reason I am blogging about all this now is because apparently, the tradition is going to continue as we build our house. My parents are going to act as our “contractors” and work on building our house while Aaron & I have to work. We’ll work on it with them whenever we’re not working.

Anyway, super long story short. He was working on something in his shop yesterday and had an argument with his table saw. Nothing super-major, just the tip of a finger gone, lots of narcotics, and stitches. He swears this is the only accident he’s going to have this year – I plan on holding him to that statement, too. Today they were here helping us flag out the house again, and I snapped a picture of him with his bandage. Trust me, it looks WAY worse than it actually is.

Isn’t he just cute?

He’s probably going to kill me for posting this, but I figure it’s just payback for all those trips to the ER and the worry lines he gave my mom, my sister and I.

Also, any of you who have been wondering, you now know where I get my lack of grace and poor coordination from – and trust me, he knows it just as well as I do!

I have lots more to post about the progression of our house, but this deserves to be “top dog” for a day or two.