I went to Home Depot yesterday, and after an hour of wandering around aimlessly like Jack Torrance at the end of The Shining, I eventually made my purchase and got out of there with my life. But also with the wrong bolts.
So it looks like I’ll be going back to Home Depot today… and probably tomorrow too, after I inevitably blow it again.
I’m no good at DIY. Thankfully, I’m getting a little help from American Express and the AmexEveryDay credit card. God knows I need it.
Calling handyman stuff an “everyday moment” for me is pretty hilarious, since I spend most of my life avoiding handyman stuff, for the safety of myself and those around me. But when you’ve just moved into a new home, it’s necessary to put on a tool belt, and it’s probably necessary to visit a hardware store. Especially if you don’t actually have a tool belt.
(I probably shouldn’t say “moved” as if we’re somehow done just because our stuff is in our new apartment. We’re not truly going to be done moving for weeks. When we’re finally finished unpacking, it will probably be about time to start re-packing for our next move! Kill me now.)
To make matters worse, our new digs pose a real dilemma: there just aren’t enough rooms to go around! Especially since Mom and Buried needs an office, and my son needs a bedroom. (My wife already ruled out this box.)
“Needs” may be a strong word, since the kid never plays in his room. He prefers to be near us and/or our iPhones during the day, and he often deserts his own bed for ours at night. He barely needs his own bed, let alone his own room, and he certainly doesn’t need one that’s as big as the second bedroom in our new place. Plus, if we give him the smaller room, the bigger one will be free to be used as an office and more, like a place for watching football and chugging beers and whatever else guys do in man-caves (I’ve always found the concept of “man-caves” kind of stupid, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want one!).
The problem is that the smaller room is too small to contain Detective Munch, Detective Munch’s bed, and the 800,000 toys and trains and stufties that my son has accumulated in his short life.
So the challenge now becomes getting the most out of that room so that my son feels like he’s in a bedroom and doesn’t feel like he’s in a prison cell (though, ironically, that’s how he often makes me feel). And that’s where my hopefully-soon-to-materialize-out-of-thin-air DIY skills come in. But if not, Home Depot sell some amazing cages!
Just kidding. But the limited space means we have to get creative. Luckily for him, Home Depot also sells lofts, and I think one of those is what we really need. (What we really need is a new curved TV and a sick-ass home stereo system and a pinball machine and a kegerator, but I’m not Tom Hanks in Big.) An elevated bed with room underneath for him to play, and by “play” I mean “sit in time out mid-tantrum” and/or “toss all his toys rather than put them away.”
The problem with buying furniture like a loft bed is that someone needs to assemble it, which means I have to use tools, which means Mom and Buried may have to call 911, because the sad fact is that my three-year-old is probably better at assembling furniture than I am. I’ve never put a single item together correctly the first time. My forte is drinking beer. Though maybe I shouldn’t drink so much beer when I’m attempting to assemble furniture. (Good tip, self!)
But I’m the dad, and my son needs a room. So my Father’s Day weekend will be largely spent attempting to create a half-decent one for him. On top of unpacking, I’ll be connecting pieces of wood to other pieces of wood, along with painting and cleaning and organizing and crying and cursing and some of the aforementioned beer drinking. This weekend is going to give new meaning to the term “panic room”.
The good news is, we have a car, so transporting our supplies will be easy. And to be totally honest, converting my son’s room into something he’ll love isn’t a bad way to spend Father’s Day. There’s a special joy in those projects you do for your kids, even if that joy often curdles into frustration and even sometimes vandalism, like when I tried to put that stupid tricycle together, may she rest in peace.
When all is said and done – provided I don’t end up converting our new apartment into a demolition zone – finishing my son’s bedroom will make him happy. And that’s about the best Father’s Day gift a guy can get.
(Besides maybe a kegerator.)