In fact, he’s given me a significant amount of grief over the years about my tendency to let things balloon: parties, crafts, shopping excursions, labeling, etc. But I want it noted for the record, that it’s not just me.
For the kid’s birthday, Charlie’s parents gave him a tire swing and climbing bars for the underside of his tree house. Charlie and his dad installed them a couple of weeks ago. And by “installed,” I mean, this was an all day affair. Charlie had previously ordered specific parts to hang the swing. But on installation day, trips to the local hardware store were required for more bolts and screws and whatnots. I have no idea what those two were doing out there, but it seemed to be serious business.
I felt compelled to point out during Hour 6 of the Labor Camp that when I was kid, a tire swing meant a rope tied to a tire thrown over the limb of a tree. That is not even close to what was happening in my backyard. Charlie got all mad at that analogy and pointed out that I was not born in the 1920s. All of this “technology” that I kept referring to has been in existence for many years. I was then compelled to counter that I know it existed, but that obviously he loves our son much more than my parents loved me because there is no way they would have spent anywhere near this amount of time or money on a TIRE SWING.
Or maybe… perhaps… he, too, lets projects get out of hand. Is it possible that I am not alone in my craziness? He just hides his obsession a bit more cleverly?
He huffed and puffed around the yard for a couple of more hours, and I’m pretty sure he was just drilling screws into things for no good reason at that point. After the nuclear holocaust, the only remains will be roaches and that tire swing.
But I’ll give the man credit, it is one fine tire swing that he and his father installed. My mother-in-law pretty much nailed it, “Well, it’s a success. Our husbands are happy. I think Jackson likes it too. But that’s really beside the point.”