Warning: Don't try this at home
Note: I did not say that this stunt was performed by trained professionals. I am suggesting, with a little hindsight, that perhaps some should have been called in for this job...
Last night, the Boy and I decided that it was finally time to put together the Captain's Father's Day gift. Knowing how much he likes the Baggo game, we thought it would be aincredibly foolish, possibly drug-induced fun, get the whole family involved, kind of Father's Day gift to make him a set of his own.
Fortunately, and this may be the first and last lucky thing you hear about this project, H's godfather cut all the wood for us ahead of time. Yes, all.the.wood. As we loaded the Suburban up with all the evenly cut pieces of our beanbag game puzzle, it couldn't have looked more simple. Really. But, somehow, when it came time to put it all together last night it was like reading the Mandarin Chinese version of the directions (which, by the way, I do not speak).
To make matters worse, we were trying to avoid asking the gift recipient for any help. First, because it was HIS gift from us and second, because the Boy was concerned his Dad wouldn't think of him as a "handy man".
The biggest troublemaker seemed to be the drill. It was like that kid in class who every time the substitute teacher turned around, he found yet another annoying way to needle her. Initially, it seemed to only spin the woodscrews around endlessly, never sinking them into the wood but somehow managing to shoot them out projectile-like at any one of the four exposed knees it saw. I was almost ready to go grab the Captain, when the Boy asked to take a look. Turning it over, from one hand to the next, he looked at me, dead serious and said, "Well, here's the trouble, you've got it set to 'evil'." And then proceeded to head out in the twilight to practice putting. Even more determined, I crouched down and inspected all angles of the wood, all the shiny little wood screws, and even the antagonistic drill. Nothing. At that point, the Boy re-emerged, energized anew with pre-teen wit and wisdom, "Let me see that drill, Mom. It just needs a good talking to, I'll take care of it..."and launched into a 5 minute chastisement of the drill. Given the time I had spent with it at that point, I almost started to feel bad for it. Almost.
Finally, the Boy recalled that his Dad had actually *taught* him to use a drill when they built the girl's playset last year. I just stared at him. My big, goofy 12 year old who at last count towered over me by about 5 inches. Now? Now, you remember? After all I've been through with this lousy, good-for-nothing drill...but I digress. So, I relinquished drill control to my adolescent helper, who decided before making any more of a mess of the wood we were using, he would drill a *test* piece. He grabbed a small cube of wood, steadied the screw and held the drill in place before he pulled the trigger. Had I known what was about to happen next, I would have yelled "FIRE IN THE HOLE!!!" and ducked for cover. Unfortunately, I was only moments away from having my eye gauged out, but my reflexes (hey, there are some benefits to parenting so many children) are still pretty quick. As the block of wood, one inch of wood screw still protruding(see picture above), landed with a thud next to me, I looked at the Boy and announced, "That's it. I'm getting your Dad," and marched in the house to pull him off of the big comfy red plaid chair and a half to come and rescue our gift-gone-wild. Within moments, it was fixed.
Although there is still the little matter of the rogue screws that need to be removed from various parts of the garage.
Just wait till the painting phase starring the 3 and 4 year olds gets underway...
Note: I did not say that this stunt was performed by trained professionals. I am suggesting, with a little hindsight, that perhaps some should have been called in for this job...
Last night, the Boy and I decided that it was finally time to put together the Captain's Father's Day gift. Knowing how much he likes the Baggo game, we thought it would be a
Fortunately, and this may be the first and last lucky thing you hear about this project, H's godfather cut all the wood for us ahead of time. Yes, all.the.wood. As we loaded the Suburban up with all the evenly cut pieces of our beanbag game puzzle, it couldn't have looked more simple. Really. But, somehow, when it came time to put it all together last night it was like reading the Mandarin Chinese version of the directions (which, by the way, I do not speak).
To make matters worse, we were trying to avoid asking the gift recipient for any help. First, because it was HIS gift from us and second, because the Boy was concerned his Dad wouldn't think of him as a "handy man".
The biggest troublemaker seemed to be the drill. It was like that kid in class who every time the substitute teacher turned around, he found yet another annoying way to needle her. Initially, it seemed to only spin the woodscrews around endlessly, never sinking them into the wood but somehow managing to shoot them out projectile-like at any one of the four exposed knees it saw. I was almost ready to go grab the Captain, when the Boy asked to take a look. Turning it over, from one hand to the next, he looked at me, dead serious and said, "Well, here's the trouble, you've got it set to 'evil'." And then proceeded to head out in the twilight to practice putting. Even more determined, I crouched down and inspected all angles of the wood, all the shiny little wood screws, and even the antagonistic drill. Nothing. At that point, the Boy re-emerged, energized anew with pre-teen wit and wisdom, "Let me see that drill, Mom. It just needs a good talking to, I'll take care of it..."and launched into a 5 minute chastisement of the drill. Given the time I had spent with it at that point, I almost started to feel bad for it. Almost.
Finally, the Boy recalled that his Dad had actually *taught* him to use a drill when they built the girl's playset last year. I just stared at him. My big, goofy 12 year old who at last count towered over me by about 5 inches. Now? Now, you remember? After all I've been through with this lousy, good-for-nothing drill...but I digress. So, I relinquished drill control to my adolescent helper, who decided before making any more of a mess of the wood we were using, he would drill a *test* piece. He grabbed a small cube of wood, steadied the screw and held the drill in place before he pulled the trigger. Had I known what was about to happen next, I would have yelled "FIRE IN THE HOLE!!!" and ducked for cover. Unfortunately, I was only moments away from having my eye gauged out, but my reflexes (hey, there are some benefits to parenting so many children) are still pretty quick. As the block of wood, one inch of wood screw still protruding(see picture above), landed with a thud next to me, I looked at the Boy and announced, "That's it. I'm getting your Dad," and marched in the house to pull him off of the big comfy red plaid chair and a half to come and rescue our gift-gone-wild. Within moments, it was fixed.
Although there is still the little matter of the rogue screws that need to be removed from various parts of the garage.
Just wait till the painting phase starring the 3 and 4 year olds gets underway...
3 comments:
H's godfather says "she should have just called me, I would have had it done in 30 minutes." Or at least he would have been happy to "assist" the Boy. Of course, then your blog would have been much less interesting! *LOL*
I feel compelled to comment that, when The Boy was at my house last summer, I handed him a hammer and told hiom to bust up some old bookcases. I seem to remember he had a *great* time destroying the furniture......
Thanks, Dawn. The Boy really is at the age where the appeal of both building things and then breaking them is very appealing. Actually, not much has changed since the days of building block towers with him only to have him knock them down! ;-)
Jane
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