I’m in the Crawl Space

Peppered throughout a family’s conversations are favorite quotes, words and idioms born from years of shared experiences.  These expressions can be baffling to the uninitiated, such as the visiting classmate or dinner guest. When I was growing up, my friends would shoot me a puzzled look when my Mom would say “see you ’round the Y Court.”  Her version of “see you later” comes from her time at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, where my Dad studied history in the 1960’s. The Y Court was a small plaza in front of the campus YMCA where students mingled on their way to class.

Subtract some Grace Kelly and slaz on some mold, and you get my trademark line, “I’m in the crawl space.”  I invoke it when all hell’s breaking loose and I have to finish something important. It means “I may be here in body, but by God, I’m not available!” It originated in 2005, when our sixty-year-old house needed a host of repairs all at once, including new plumbing and a sump pump in the crawl space. My handy husband Joe logged many hours under the house doing much of the work himself.  “Where’s Daddy?” our three-year old daughter would ask a dozen times a day.  The answer was always: “he’s in the crawl space.” Silence followed while we listened to the squeaky turn of his wrench on a corroded pipe. Only one-and-a-half inches of flooring separated us from him, but we understood that he was inaccessible, busy, not to be disturbed.

Now, crouching under floor joists and getting sprayed by thrashing drainlines is no vacation. Oops, wait, yes it is! If you’re by yourself when it happens, that is. I coveted Joe’s alone-time in the dirt. As a parent of young children, it’s restorative to complete any task, gross or otherwise. Kids have constant needs, and on top of that, they’re naturally curious. Whip out a screwdriver to fix a loose freezer handle, and you’ll soon have a toddler scaling your pant leg to steal it. Before you can righty-tighty, a glass will fall from the counter or someone will open an umbrella in his sister’s face.

That’s why “I’m in the crawl space” is so vital. Everyone knows the ratio: it’s Mom’s one-quarter cry-for-help to three-quarters tornado warning. I unleash the the words and everyone ducks for cover. The key is to use them judiciously, such as when the new client calls at dinnertime and wants to talk fee. 

All family members contribute to our household lexicon. “Goodlets” is my daughter’s term for chunky items gathered in the dustpan’s bountiful harvest.  If Joe invokes the Japanese phrase “Chotto matte” (choh-toe-mat-tay), the children know to chill out and wait a minute. When our son was three, he used the simile “like a tire swing” to describe anything attached to a tether (think pepperoni slice dangling from a string of mozerella). Now five years old, he shakes his head disapprovingly when Joe and I use his expression. He’s moved on, whereas we want to revel in the memory. Experiencing this tension has helped me understand my Dad a little better.  Ever since my college days, we’ve lived in separate states, and see each other only a few times a year. To break the ice when we reunite, he’ll open with a line from the Wizard of Oz, a film we watched together when I was a kid.  “Are you a good witch or a bad witch?” he’ll ask from his side of the threshold. I’ll cringe a tinge, then dutifully reply “I’m not a witch at all.”