The Post about the Swingset April 19th

So today being payday, and with all the benefits of direct deposit fully in place, I woke up to discover my wife had gone shopping.

"Come and help me carry this to the backyard" she said.

'This' was a seven-foot box containing four metal legs, a support beam, a trapeze bar, two swings, a teeter-totter, and a slide.

In short, a swingset.

It wasn't much of a surprise, as my wife had been pushing to buy one for weeks. I admit I didn't see the need as we're two blocks away from a park and a mere block from a playground, but hey, it could've been worse.

She could have bought it the day after I threw out my back.

Oh, that's right. She did.

[personal note: I could boast of injuring myself in a manly motorcycle wreck, but the truth is far more Dannyesque. I threw out my back at a rummage sale. While picking up a tricycle. A pink tricycle.]

Fortunately, once the box was in the backyard my obligation was at an end. My wife's long since given up on me being any use when a problem calls for tools. Instead she called my family and asked for help.

From my sister.

[personal note #2: If you believe this in any way bothers or shames me, you're wrong. Pride, you'll remember, is one of the seven deadly sins.]

I was perfectly content sitting on the back porch, directing their efforts and enjoying having two kids away at Grandma's, when the whole thing turned ugly.

The neighbors to the right came out into the backyard. The folks to my left did the same. My daughter's friends showed up.

Suddenly the project was an episode of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition and Ty Pennington was sitting on his keister letting his wife and sister take the credit.

Share the limelight, I cannot do.

Naturally, the assembly was a mess. The hardware came in one large bag, devoid of any parts list or order. The instructions were 20 pages long, held together by a staple in the corner, and conveniently printed out of order.

Nowhere did they tell you what tools were required; I didn't find out I needed a hammer until Step 7 finished with 'hammer in place'. I stared blankly at some pages until I realized they'd included instructions for optional equipment.

Toilet Paper comes with more detailed instructions.

Not good.

And then came the Danny moments. I lost the bit for our electric screwdriver and misplaced the be-all-and-end all Allen wrench (recovered when I bribed my daughter to crawl across the lawn searching for it.). I installed the legs backwards, voiding an hour of work.

At one point I ran like a ninny when a bumble bee stumbled onto the construction site.

I say again, pride is a sin.

After four hours of this I volunteered to take my daughter to dance class. From their waiting room I called my wife to say that, with gas prices being what they are, it just wasn't worth going home for an hour.

But you keep plugging away hon.

[personal note #3: Say what you will, what I lack in skill I make up for in pure cane Sugah. Before we went home I stopped and bought my wife a CD, which my daughter gave her as a thank-you.]

Six hours after we started it was done, and for all the trouble, the kid seems to love it.

All that was left was to throw out the packing materials.

And the leftover pipe, washers, and screws I'd hidden in the box.

 

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ps. Thanks to my sister Katie for helping the Mrs. tackle that monster.