From Sweet to Stupid in Three Easy Steps

Jill's birthday was on the 12th. The girls and I were out shopping the weekend before. I honestly didn't know what to get her and was hoping that the act of looking would help me come up with an epiphany. Although this had never, ever worked before. Ever. Really. Time and again I grossly overestimate the imaginative jolt that the act of walking into stores will provide. But this time it worked. The girls and I were shopping at Restoration Hardware when it hit me. A porch swing! I'm not sure how the hardware store made me think of a porch swing, but I knew it was perfect. And I knew that the unfinished furniture store was having a 4th of July sale. And that I knew how to finish the unfinished furniture (you complete me!).

So off we went and bought her a porch swing for her birthday. Forget that we were in the Camry. The box fit in the car. I know, I was as surprised as you. And later I went and bought some redwood stain. Two days before her birthday, I was home with the girls. I put the porch swing together. I stained it. I let it dry. I connected the chains. This was going to be so great. We would hang the porch swing on the front porch and she would see it when she got home. I sent the girls to the wrapping paper closet to get some bows.

First engineering flaw - assuming that the fact that there were porch swing hooks means that a regular-size porch swing actually hung there.


Perhaps the previous owners had a tiny swing. My regular size swing was a good 12 inches too long. I could hang it, but it wouldn't, well, swing.

To Plan B! The previous owners had also constructed an arch on the back porch and hung a porch swing on it. I had focused on the front porch because the arch looked like a rickety death trap. But with Jill's return imminent, I took the swing to the back porch so that she could see it hanging. The arch had two hooks in porch swing position so I hung up the swing. I would figure out how to really hang it later.

Jill came home and was surprised and delighted. The girls wanted to sit on it and I said no. They pleaded. I let them, closely monitoring the arch and the swing. Jill sat on it for a moment and got off.

Now, if you were following along, you would have seen that this was the exact moment my brain stopped working. The arch was structurally sound! The hooks were solid (the hooks that turned out to be for hanging plants)! It was a miracle! I could sit on it. With the girls. I remember hearing Jill say something about the hooks not holding, but before I could process it, the world was tumbling. The porch swing went off the arch, off the back porch, and the girls fell on top of me as I fell back and whacked my head on the crepe myrtle behind us. A surprisingly hard tree. Big bump on my head. The girls were OK. The porch swing was OK. Jill's confidence in my engineering skills and the eventual safety of the porch swing were dramatically diminished. And I have lost a lot of love for crepe myrtles, even though I know it wasn't his fault.



But I spent a week re-engineering. New crossbar. New hooks, built for porch swings, not ivy. Support beams in the back. Stabilizing 1/2" x 12" screw from side beam to fence. Metal brackets at all corners. New 7" screws down through the top into the support beams. It's up and it's safe. It no longer swings. And it sits on the porch.

And I am going to cut down that fucking tree.