I have two tool boxes. When I get the small grey one out, all the kids, my wife and the dog leave the room. When I get the big red one out, they exit the house entirely. When I get both out...plus the ratchet set...they make for the church to say prayers. Bottom line: I am not handy around the house. I once tried to fix a lonely little drip in the shower in an upstairs bathroom and ended up with water shooting through the ceiling fan in the living room. If I had just added some high-brow music from Mozart or Wierd Al Yankovic, I could've opened "The Nichols Living-Room Dancing Waters Show!" Eventually, I did get the water to stop coming through the ceiling and got the drip to stop in the shower. However, if you turn the tap too far to the left, now, it just keeps on spinning. Too far to the right and the radio in the next room comes on.

As frightening as my plumbing skills are, they are exceeded in danger-level by my talents as an electrician. Lately, I have been really using those nearly non-existent abilities a lot. You know that hard sugar stuff that some Easter egg decorations are made of? It appears the builder of our house used the same material for the light switches. Lately, they have all been cracking and crumbling, leaving the connection in a precarious state. That means, sometimes the light lights, sometimes it doesn't and, eventually, it won't. For a normal, reasonably adept, person, replacing one of these little do-hickeys probably takes about five minutes, including the time it takes to go downstairs to the fuse box and turn off the power. For me, it can be the better part of an afternoon.

First of all, it takes me a long time to figure out what basement switch corresponds to what upstairs room. It is well-labeled but I get paranoid and spend an extra amount of time making sure I have the right one. When I am sure I have turned off the proper charge, I go back into the dark room and then forget which switch is the fan and which is the light. I usually end up taking both off to see which thingy is in pieces. Oh, add to this, the time it takes me to find all the little screws I drop on the floor or in the sink or in the toilet. (Yes, I have finally learned to close the toilet seat and plug up the drains.) Sometimes I leave the screwdriver downstairs by the fuse box...which adds to the total time taken for a five minute task. It takes me an inordinate amount of time to pull the wires out of the old fixture...sometimes the wire breaks and I have to try to get the plastic casing off, to reveal enough wire to make a new connection. I've seen people use a little wire cutter to easily expose more wire but I usually end up cutting more wire off than necessary. Well, after getting the old deal off, I never seem to make the new connection work the first time. That means hooking it up....going back downstairs....turning on the juice....coming back up and finding that not only does the light still not light but the fan or other light, which was not a problem before, now doesn't work either. So , I start all over.

Once, in the midst of all this self-inflicted confusion, I forgot to turn the power back off before starting that obligatory second attempt. I got a little jolt of reality that time. My whole arm was sore for a couple days. On the positive side, I was able to act as my own nightlight for awhile.

Well, as I said before, it seems all of these sugar-cube fixtures are falling apart at once, so, I felt I was getting pretty good at this particular area of home maintenance. On Sunday, another light didn't work. I got out my tools, said goodbye to my family, and went to work. No matter how many different times I went through my aforementioned routine, I could not get that light to come on. Finally, I just gave up...certain the problem was much deeper and more complicated than I could solve. I took all my tools back to the closet and sat, pouting, on the couch. The one home duty I can actually accomplish in less than a day, and it didn't do the trick. I was also calculating the cost of a real electrician coming out right before the holidays. I was almost literally smoking from the ears and this time it wasn't because I'd forgotten to turn the power off, first.

As a sat and stewed, our youngest son came into the room. "Sorry about the light, dad, " he said. "Too bad it wasn't just a burnt out bulb." You could have knocked me over with a 60 watt feather. I grabbed the shining light bulb over his 11 year old head and headed for the darkened room. A few turns later and there was light. And, it was good. Turns out I was not the only dim bulb in the room.

So, how many college-educated, blown-dry, TV-talking weather dorks does it take to screw in a light bulb? Just one. But it may require several screwdrivers, a pliers, a tweezers, multiple walks up and down the stairs and good three or four hours. Oh, and a 5th grader with more common sense than his dad wouldn't hurt, either.