I saw(ed) it

As we have well established, I am a problem solver.
Take for example, the time I got stuck on the roof. Or the time I nearly electrocuted myself trying to change a light bulb. Or the time I ended up upside down behind my dryer.
OK, I’m not a problem solver. When problems present themselves, I am generally the first person you can call if you want the problem to be accelerated into a full blown crisis. So imagine my surprise when my wife called me the other day to enlist my support in solving a problem.
Normally, when problems present themselves at home, my wife surveys the situation, comes up with a solution, and solves it, usually in the matter of about four minutes. She’s good like that. And she usually does all of this without telling me, because she’s afraid I will try and help, and that will only make things far, far worse.
But this time, she called me because it was a problem that had presented itself before, and I had actually solved it with minimal damage to our home.
When my wife called, I could tell it was one of those moments where she was not interested in solving any problems, and was quite possibly considering dropping the kids off at work with me and heading to the islands for four for five years. The phone call went like this:
ME: Hey, how’s it going?
HER: The pantry is – PARKER GET OFF OF THE TABLE – stuck shut and – ALLIE, DO NOT HELP YOUR BROTHER OFF THE TABLE -- I can’t get it open – PARKER, THAT IS DOG FOOD!!! – the easel is stuck again. – ALLIE, THAT IS DOG FOOD!!!
Ain’t summer grand!
Fortunately, I knew exactly what she was talking about. We have this plastic easel that the kids use to draw on when the walls are fully saturated with their art work. For some ill-conceived reason, we continue to store it in our pantry, and on occasion it will fall against the door and block us from entry.
In the past, I have been able to open the door enough to wiggle the easel out of the way and get the door open. This time, it had decided to get wedged in nice and firm where there would be no wiggling.
I know what you’re thinking: Why continue to store the easel there? Look, when you’re spending time convincing your daughter that getting her little brother to eat dog food is a bad idea, easel storage is WAY down on your list.
Being the super awesome husband I am, I assured my wife that it would be OK, and that I would solve it when I got home. My wife said something under her breath that I am fairly sure I am glad I didn’t hear.
When I got home, I went to work. As with any problem of this nature, the first thing to do is use brute strength and stern words. After nearly dislocating my shoulder, I concurred that my wife was correct in her assessment that it was, in fact, jammed in there pretty good.
The last time this happened, I was able to use a yard stick and slide it up under the door to dislodge the easel. My wife told me she had tried that, but I was fairly certain she had not REALLY tried it, otherwise the easel would be free, right?
About the moment the yardstick snapped in half, I heard the voice of my daughter, standing about six feet away, commenting on how I “broke Mommy’s ruler.” Thanks for the play-by-play, Vin Scully, How about you go watch the Disney Channel while Daddy solves problems?
The problem, as I could see it, was that a yardstick wasn’t quite sturdy enough to dislodge the easel this time. Being a guy’s guy, I went to my garage to retrieve the perfect tool. Let’s just say that, as far as tool guys go, I’m WAY down on the totem pole, since my first two choices were a license plate and a shish kebob. Neither worked quite well, as I am sure you are shocked. Neither of these conventional tools were long enough or sturdy enough to get some leverage on the easel and knock it free. Then I spied a handsaw. Perfect, I thought. My wife’s at the store, making this possibly ill-conceived plan even MORE perfect, I thought.
Sure enough, I was able to squeeze the saw through the crack in the door and lift the easel out of the way. And it only took out about half of the items in the pantry when it came crashing down. But it was open, even if the door frame was a little, um, sawed and such.
When my wife got home, she was pleased to see that it was free. Not so pleased about the door frame. But I managed to keep her focused on the important issues, and knew a simple way to get her mind off the scratched up door frame. I started to eat some dog food.