Sometimes, we could have used an expert
In my early memory, mother is tearing down a wall, a sledgehammer shattering the plaster and lathing. One of us, I don’t remember which, stepped on a nail and had to have a tetanus shot. As mother struck her blows, my father may well have been telling her a story. That was the role she sweetly assigned him when they shared a job.
If there was a job that needed doing, Mother was the woman to do it, whether or not she knew how.
Can you see where this story is heading? Maybe I should have stuck with telling stories.