Not Exactly Hallmark

We go check out our new house every day.  Every.  Day.  Sometimes more than once.  As a result, we've had many opportunities to chat with the tradesmen as they do their work.  Most are only there for a day or two, so they don't really see our pattern of visiting every day, but the mud & tape guy (whose trade, I'm sure, has a more official name than that) has been working evenings and weekends for nearly a week.

He arrives sometime before my 5:30-ish stop at the house on my way home from work, and he finds it quite amusing that I usually get there about fifteen minutes after Kirk has left.  He doesn't seem to mind when Adam hovers over him while he works, and he even patiently answers Adam's questions.  One evening, Adam accidentally stuck his palm in the recently applied mud, and though I responded less than jovially, he was patient and kind.

Through conversations with the brick mason, I had learned that Mr. Mud and Tape would be there working all weekend, so Kirk and I decided to thank him for being so awesome with our curious kids.  We made a batch of brownies, and the kids wrote thank you cards.

Thank you for spending so much time working at our house.  I have learned so much.  Our house is being built so fast.
From Adam

And the more verbose Alex:

Dear Mr. Mudder,
My name is Alex.  What is your name?  I just wanted to say thank you for making our new house.  Thank you for letting us watch you.  I think you are cool.  You are the best.  I hope you enjoyed the brownies.
From Alex to you.

Alex also drew a detailed picture depicting the previous evening when we'd brought Marie and Chance over to see the house.  Mr. Mudder had been up on his scaffolding, which we had to cross under in order to enter the house.  Alex depicted him atop the scaffold with trowel in one hand and mud/tape contraption in the other.

Wayne, as it turns out he is named, gratefully accepted the cards and brownies, read each card, and responded thoughtfully to each beaming boy.  He explained that he had been just about to take a break, and that the warm brownies would be a perfect treat.  When I tried to apologize for the noise and craziness each time we visit, he responded, "It gets awfully quiet over here."

This man has a job to do; he is responsible for making our walls and ceilings strong and beautiful.  He had no responsibility to set an example for three young boys, but he has certainly done so.  In a way, I think I will be a little sad to move on to the next phase of building.  Thanks, Wayne, for taking the time to be a great human being.

Another positive that came out of the card making was that Michelle and Kirk made a reference to a card I'd never seen.

"Can I be invited to your funeral?" they joked.  I stared back, confused.

Apparently, when the boys and Kirk attended Aunt Marie's 40th birthday party a week ago (I had attended a Stake Conference session with our ward's Young Women), they had written her cards.  Kirk had explained that people often joke about 40 year olds being close to death, which Alex incorporated into his message.

Happy Birthday, Marie. Will you invite us to your funeral?  Circle an answer, Yes or No.  I will miss you.