H doesn’t want to do the projects, and he doesn’t want to pay anyone else to do it. He’s WAY too used to my free labor, which only increases the number of projects I’m juggling. He’ll grouse when I’m on a stepladder painting (You’re going to hurt yourself/Why isn’t this done yet? – well, because I have to do it safely and precisely, which means slowly), but won’t do it himself. I’m the daughter of a DIYer. All of us kids got that gene.
He grew up in an apartment in the Bronx. Yardwork is an alien concept. So is house maintenance.
He sees the forest, I see the trees. We’re both perfectionists, but in different spheres.
I used to tie myself in knots about it. Since my cardiologist banned me from lawn equipment, H has reluctantly agreed to have a yard company come to mulch and blow out the leaves.
His half-baked project? We have no wills. He’s an attorney. (govt, not private practice, but still!) OTOH, he’s sitting in front of me rewriting and correcting the errors in several rental contracts for our synagogue. (Rental committee chair is not an attorney. Docs are rife with significant errors.)
It balances out, most of the time.