*tink-tink-tink, clunka-tink, clunk, tink-tink... tink-tink-clunk... tink-tink-tink*
I woke up at 3:00 this morning hearing strange noises downstairs.
*clunk, clunk, tink-tink-tink*
I couldnt' figure out what it was. Must be Nathan. He didn't come to bed. What on earth is he doing?
My half-asleep brain started imagining weird and impossible scenarios: He was moving the stove by himself... and now he's... trapped under it! And... trying to signal me!
That can't be it. (Look, I said I was half asleep!)
*tink-tink, clink, clunk*
I just had to get up and see what he's doing.
So I came down the stairs and rounded the corner and he looked up like the cat who ate the canary. He was sitting in front of the woodstove, all installed in it's new spot, finishing putting a few parts back together.
I looked at the stove and looked at him, "How in the..."
"Leverage. It's all about leverage."
Leverage indeed. I had thought he would wait until daylight to get some help moving the stove. I think it's a little bit heavy.
What I don't get is how I didn't hear any of it. Since I haven't had a baby around in quite a while, I must have gone back to my ability to sleep through a "brass band and a flyover" as my Dad used to tell me.
So here's the "before shot" in the spot where the woodstove has spent the last two years (note the electrical panel right next to it. We're nothing if not completely safe and up to code.)
(Please ignore the dust. It's hard to keep it wiped off when it's always sizzling hot, round the clock. Because we live in Michigan. And it's cold here.)
And here, ta to the da, is the woodstove in it's new home!
I like this much better. It's on the other end of the room, more central to the house, not angled into a corner. Close to the mudroom where we keep a stack of wood for feeding.
Also, today my house is warm. Yay!