My husband loves his truck. It’s not a tiny little Toyota or any plain GMC, it’s a big ole’ Dodge Cummins with a diesel engine. I’ve seen more men turn their heads at that thing driving past than at a cute jogger in tight yoga pants. Maybe there’s hope for America. The forest green vehicle sounds like a tractor trailer truck going down the road. I have to pull myself into it with the overhead handle because it’s so high off the ground, and my husband looks like a happy kid on his birthday whenever he is taking it for a spin.
All that to say, it’s pretty cool.
Last winter, that same truck hit a patch of black ice on a winding Maine road that set it into a spin, then rolled and landed upside down in a ditch.
Thankfully, my husband suffered only minor cuts on his arm, and no one else had been involved. However, the Dodge was totaled. While all the inward parts were fine, the body was damaged so heavily it would have been illegal to keep it on the road.
I was so sad for Josiah. Not only was it a man losing his favorite cool toy, but in a very practical sense we had lost a very expensive and reliable vehicle. The truck, in my eyes, was a goner.
But it remained in our driveway and Josiah vowed he would fix it. I took a look at our busy schedules, our budget, and our new baby, and I had doubts. The damage was extensive. However, as time passed, he fixed many of the minor damages as neighboring men snuck into our yard to chat with him and ogle at its sheer, I don’t know, truckness?
Finally, after headlights and fenders and fender aprons, the last thing to fix was the bed of the truck.
Josiah came home with a pile of steel rods one day and told me that he was going to build the bed with it. It looked like random metal to me, and I could not imagine how it was going to work.
But he did it. Within weeks he had the flatbed completely built, complete with fasteners for tiedowns and a trapdoor to the gas tank. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed. It was awesome. My husband had taken seemingly random pieces of lumber and metal and created something beautiful and practical. I feel like I could have never done it.
Many men have this incredible skill to be able to look at a vehicle and know exactly how to fix it. They can see a flickering light and know which wire to mess with in order to get it up and working again. They see an array of gears and can make an educated guess about which one is malfunctioning. It blows my mind. When my check engine light comes on, I’m more apt to believe the car is done for. I look at the mess under the hood and can’t tell the ignition from the radiator (are those even under the hood?).
But what happens when we introduce men to the world of motherhood? Somehow these guys can take apart an Apple computer and put it back together again, but ask them to put a child’s hair in a ponytail and you get a blank look and a hairy disaster! Now obviously there are a lot of dads that do these tasks with ease, just like there are many women who fix their own cars with ease. But I’m talking about the rest of the population.
Not only do I think our differences are wonderful, but they are also comical! I’m not a fan of man-shaming, I think the men in my life are pretty great. But this video tastefully pokes fun at what happens when men take a stab at motherhood for a day by trying to assemble a breastpump- a task that many moms can tackle in seconds with a baby in one arm. Too funny!