As I stood atop the rickety wooden ladder yesterday afternoon, installing the enormous storm windows that help keep the heat from escaping through the single paned glass of my old 1920’s porch, the thoughts running through my head varied.  Thought #1:  I am going to fall off this ancient ladder and suffer life-threatening injuries while my 12 & 15 year old offspring yammer around instead of paying attention and hold the ladder steady.  Thought #2:  If I had a man in my life who was house-maintenance enabled…I wouldn’t be up here on this ladder, worrying about imminent injury.  Thought #3:  I don’t need a man in my life to do this sort of stuff…because, I can do it myself!!  Wonder Woman didn’t have a male sidekick doing her home maintenance chores, did she?  Thought #4:  Damn you, Drew, for dying on me…and taking all of your handyman skills to the afterlife, with you.  I’m sure they’re all kinds of thrilled “over there” that they have snagged one more guy who is not only capable of fixing stuff…but who actually loves to do it. But, I am suffering down here.  Thought #5:  I am SO tired of doing everything by myself…or, worse yet, remaining at the mercy of handymen who show up to put the storm windows up in, say, January. Or turn on the outside water in, say, September.  Thanks so much Mr. Handyman.  You’re nice.  And witty. But I’ll just do it MYSELF – before I lose another hundred dollars worth of heat!!! I thought we were in an economic downturn, for God’s sake. Doesn’t the lure of cold, hard cash mean anything anymore??

Prior to climbing up on that ladder…and down that ladder…and up that ladder…and down…up….down…up  (you get the picture – there were 5 humongous screens to take down, 5 humongous windows to clean, and 5 humongous storm windows to install) I had been in my garage, prying the unwieldy, weighty windows from their resting places.  As I stood there, I was reminded of a day soon after I had bought this house…as a widowed, single parent of 3.  A day when a woman was delivering a huge, unwieldy, HEAVY antique cabinet to my house.  There were 4 of us women there that morning, to get this mammoth piece of furniture off of the truck and into the empty house.  My first big purchase for our new house…our new life.  So, there we were, all four of us, still struggling to move this thing off of the back of the pick-up/delivery truck.  When suddenly…what to our bleary eyes should appear, but…men.  Not just one man.  But, men.  Like, 5 of them. They emerged through the early morning fog, from the wooded lot next to my new home, as if in some sort of dream.  They had on their tree cutting gear.  Some sort of protective eye masks or breathing filter apparatus.  Carhaarts….man, they looked good.  Not because they were so extra hot or anything…but because they were coming to rescue us.  The damsels in distress.  Of course, we weren’t in distress…not really. And two of the women were lesbians, which somehow made it even funnier that these macho men were coming to save us.  But, damn, when 5 men come sauntering out of the foggy woods, like in some movie…wanting to help you move a 900 pound piece of furniture…your feminist thoughts vanish.  Poof! And you just smile and say, “Thank You.  I am in love with you and wish to bear your children.”

So, I’m in the garage, dragging these windows around, and I’m thinking of the cabinet moving incident, and I burst out into song.  Which is not completely unlike me.  I start singing, “It’s Raining Men.” Who sang that? The Weather Girls?  Circa 1970-something?  And my 12 year old son looks at me, and without skipping a beat says, “No it’s not raining men…because if it were, you wouldn’t be out here doing this!”

And at moments such as that, I am both happy to be Wonder Woman – setting a fine example of independence for my male and female children…and okay with admitting to sometimes wishing I could allow more of my Sweet Polly Purebred side to show (for you Underdog cartoon fans!), looking for those men to come back out of the woods…in their sexy, dirty Carhaarts.  Wanting desperately to be rescued.  If only for a an hour or two.

The 24/7 Wonder Woman thing gets exhausting.