There seems to be pre-determined road stops along the path of parenthood.
First, there is Babyland where diapers abound, bottles reek, and you find your self dreaming of poop, then there is Toddlerville where the preferred language is Engble (babbling and English combined) and your goal is all about preventing an early death (yours or theirs), and other stops are seen in the not too distant future.
Each of these stops consist of various monumental life experiences too, such as getting rid of the 400hp sports car in lieu of the nifty minivan (complete with a sto-away 3rd row bench seat I may add) or trading in many hours of TV time for weeks worth of recorded shows you will never watch neatly arranged and ready on your DVR.
No matter what you do, these stops along the way are required. Those that try and bypass them usually pay a steeper price and spend years trying to repair the damage done. Only fools refuse to comply.
Recently our trip came to a stop known to many as Swingworld and by the looks on people’s faces and the laughter that follows when I explain our current location on this trip, many, many parents have seemingly made this stop, regrettably.
Our girls just turned three and when kids are three they like to swing. And they like to swing a lot. They want to be pushed, they want to be pulled. They want to stop, they want to go. The want to swing standing up, they want to swing sitting down. They want to sing dang it!
The grandparents have swings. From tree swings to huge outdoor wonder gyms complete with multiple swings, they can swing with the best of them. Our nearby parks have swings attached with all kinds of other amazing playground contraptions.
But we don’t have swings.
Until now.
Daddy caved. The word “sucker” that has been etched as a tattoo across my dad’s forehead for decades now has suddenly appeared on mine.
The swingset box arrived a few weeks before their birthday. I knew when it took a crane to lift it off the 18 wheeled delivery truck and 37 Aggies to get it into my garage, that “some assembly” was going to be required. The instructions that unfolded into an “actual size” map of China confirmed my concerns. It didn’t help that someone in China gave it their best English attempt at writing them too. The parts bags (notice the plural) that took a two-wheel dolly to move made the sweat start beading on my forehead.
Suddenly I was willing to buy another minivan. A pink one if necessary and I would drive it. Anything to avoid Swingworld.
Sorry Daddio. Get busy.
After breaking the project up into small daily tasks I got the swingset 90% complete without too many hitches. I slowly and methodically put a bolt here, a nut there, a metal piece here and another over there, and next thing you know, I had a wobbly swingset.
That’s when I realized I was missing parts.
The Joker of the Swingworld laughed in the distance as I spent hours trying to figure out how to complete this stupid thing without many, and I do mean many, important parts that the unclear instructions were very clear I had to have. After a few trips to Home Depot it was obvious a call would have to be made in order to get my parts.
A week later (after the girls birthday party I should add), the parts arrived in one large unmarked baggie. Thanks. That really helps.
After taking half the swingset apart because of realizing B should have been done before A even though the instructions said to do A before B and the highly detailed graphic instruction image clearly showed A should come before B, it was B that had to come before A. I am no engineer, but I am also not an idiot.
The girls were watching me do all of this, so I had to be careful what I said under my breath to the wonderful makers of this incredible device, but the swing had to come apart in order to be put together. Try and explain that one to 3 year old twins who have been waiting weeks now to swing on “their own swing”. They couldn’t compute why daddy was doing B before A.
Finally, a few days later, the swing set and the huge area of yard that had to be prepped for it underneath it was done. I had dug up dirt and grass, laid on my back to put in a bolt that I could swear was ¼ inch too short, struggled with a plastic ladder that appeared to be warped from its travels, prayed for eternal damnation on the inventor of the swing concept, and ended up undoing and redoing way too many steps.
But in the end, our girls now have their own little Swingworld.
The good news is I have heard you only have to stop there once. Regardless, our minivan is gonna hightail it outta here. I will never build another.
Or so I say. Sucker.
“Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them (children). They will not be put to shame when they contend with their enemies in the gate.” Psalm 127:5
© 2008, J. Brady
”I say it how I see it and I make no bones about it."
