Ax man

Is there a more useful tool than an ax?

Answer: No.

A few months ago, I shared with you my tale of deconstructing my children's play fort. Several frustrating minutes into trying to take it down peacefully with a screwdriver, I resorted to the far more satisfying mode of beating it to death with an ax. Thirty minutes, tops. Play fort leveled, any pent-up frustration, anger, etc. - gone.

So fast forward to the other day when my brother-in-law and I were moving a couch out of my house. We are in the midst of a great furniture swap, which means we currently have about twice the amount of furniture we need. I suggested we move out all of the old furniture first. My wife suggested I not suggest.

So what has resulted is several rooms and our garage turning into what look like storage sheds. Furniture is stacked on top of furniture, and on top of that is, say, a bin of winter clothes that will go into storage once the closet is no longer blocked by two mattresses that, I am told, are going somewhere. Some time.

Anywho, one of the biggest pieces we needed to get rid of was a sleeper sofa. I have vague recollections of moving this sofa up into our playroom. It involved me, a neighbor, several words not appropriate for a family newspaper and the repeated line of, "I'M NOT TRYING TO SCRATCH THE WALL!!! BUT WE CAN PAINT IT ... AHHHH ... MY HAND!!!"

So, needless to say, I never was in great love with this couch. Add to the fact that the sleeper part of it was crooked, so if you did make it out into a bed, your feet would be about a foot lower than your head. You always felt like you were just about to start sliding downhill.

FAST FACT 1: Did you know you can store roughly the entire contents of a Toys "R" Us in the compartment up under a sleeper bed?

FAST FACT 2: Did you know sleeper sofas weigh slightly more than most concrete mixing trucks?

My brother-in-law was helping with the moving. He and I are the most effective, efficient moving team ever assembled. We have been involved in several moves, and we have learned a few important things:

1. When you ask us to help you move, please know that "move" and "pack" are two different things.

2. If you are constantly saying, "Sorry ...," you are probably in the way. Please go sit by the truck.

3. Play-by-play and commentary? Yeah, we're good, thanks.

So Keith and I settled in by the couch and began to move it toward the door. It was obvious it was going to be a tight squeeze, so we took the door off the hinges and cleared the best path possible. As we turned and wiggled and twisted and rocked the couch, we got it almost all the way through the door. One arm was still catching, and it was going to take some serious craftiness to work it out.

"Or we could take an ax to it," I said. Keith jokingly said that was probably a good choice.

"Go ahead," I heard my wife say. "I hate that couch." Now THAT'S input I can get behind.

In no time, I was standing in my playroom, taking an ax to the couch. I am fairly certain that is the first and only time I will ever swing an ax at a couch in my house. And it was delightful.

Once I took the side of the couch off, it was amazing how easy it was to get the remains of the couch outside. It was also amazing how stress-free I felt.

That was by far the most difficult part of the furniture swap. We've got most of the furniture at least close to where it will eventually live. Should be just a matter of a few tweaks here and there. I'll keep my ax handy just in case.

Playing possum

It's just your routine Saturday night: A water line breaks, you can't figure out how to shut the water off and your dog corners a possum.

It all started when I made the mistake of trying to diagnose a home improvement problem using the Internet.

For months, water had been pooling up in the bottom of my refrigerator. I solved this problem by, every few days, lugging in a Shop-Vac and getting all of the water out. I am not sure why, but I decided I would take a few laps on the Google track and see what I could find out about water pooling up in a fridge.

It turns out you can find a lot. There were gobs of home improvement sites with different diagnoses of what was wrong. Time to do some exploratory surgery.

Step one: Move fridge.

Step two: Scream, "JENN!!! THE WATER LINE BROKE!!! HELP!!!"

So the exploration took a side track. The copper pipe coming from the floor and heading into the back of the fridge had broken, and water was spraying straight up, flooding our kitchen and dining room.

My wife made it downstairs in a flash, towels in hand. She asked me if I planned on shutting off the water or just waiting until it all ran out.

I figured there was a shutoff for that particular line but had no clue where. So, I did the sensible thing and ran outside and shut all the water off to the house. I came back inside, pleased as punch at my quick thinking.

"It's still leaking," my wife said. I am still not sure how that is possible.

After about an hour of searching (including a delightful crawl underneath my house), I found the shutoff for this particular line, which was cleverly tucked back behind the garbage disposal so that it was only easy to find and shut off it you had (a) X-ray vision and (b) exceptionally tiny hands.

We were now in full-on cleanup mode.

And then we heard Murphy the Excitable Dachshund going nuts in the backyard. And this was a special kind of nuts, the kind that makes Maggie the Attack Basset slightly lift her head to see what the commotion is about.

I grabbed a flashlight and headed outside. Murphy was in the shed and was going after something like crazy.

I flashed the light and saw the most terrified looking possum trying its level best to, well, not be eaten. I pulled Murphy back and scooped up the possum. I went inside and showed my wife.

"LOOK!" I said with child-like enthusiasm as I held the possum out.

My wife, who was sitting in an inch of water and spreading out towels everywhere, simply said, "Seriously?"

We kept the possum overnight because I knew the kids would want to see it. They were very excited to see the little critter they quickly dubbed Dandelion.

Parker especially became very attached to Dandelion. And my wife finally realized where her life had ended up when she had this conversation:

PARKER: Mom, can I do my homework on the trampoline?

HER: You can't do homework while on a trampoline.

PARKER: I want to sit out there so the possum can do homework with me. And since it's enclosed she can't get out. I promise I won't jump, just sit.

HER: OK, as long as you get your homework done.

Ah, the fairy tale ending she no doubt dreamed of as a young girl...

Alas, I have told the kids that Dandelion will not be able to live with us. I think our collection of two dogs, a cat, two snakes, a tortoise, a fish and two frogs is quite sufficient.

Dandelion is going to be part of an environmental outreach program, where she will hopefully be able to meet lots of kids and maybe even do homework with them.

As for the broken pipe, I did the sensible thing and called someone to fix it. And next time a home improvement project comes up, I need to remember that path.

I should stick to what I'm good at it. Which is apparently finding wildlife at exactly the wrong time.

A message 2 U, txter

It's not often I yell at my fellow motorists. I don't do this because my wife is from Atlanta, and she has convinced me that every other motorist is armed and has a short fuse and an itchy trigger finger.

I normally take a different approach when someone upsets me while driving. I squeeze the steering wheel as tight as I can and check the rearview mirror to see if my kids are in the backseat, at which point I then select my words for my commentary that makes me feel better but that stays in the car with me.

But not the other day. I had to. I couldn't take it. I rolled down my window and shouted, loudly, "Quit texting. You have a kid in your car!!!"

As I see too often, someone was cruising down the road, two hands happily typing away a message, one no doubt layered in misspellings, typos or idiotic abbreviations about a topic that is one of the most time sensitive and globally important of all time ("Goin 2Nite? Me 2. LOL!!!")

But this woman upped the ante by having a small child strapped in a car seat in the backseat. And it made me mad. So I yelled. And she sped up. I figured she just didn't hear me, so I pulled up and again told her to quit texting. She gave me a look that implied her next text would be about me and what she thought of me.

So, dear ma'am, I say to you this: I don't know you. I don't know if that was your kid or your nephew or what. But I do know that you had one single goal when you were operating that vehicle, and it was not to send some message via cell phone. It was to drive safely. And I am willing to bet you my house that were you not texting someone directions on the next step of a life-saving surgery. And if you were, pull over.

I'm not trying to sound like some old fuddy duddy. I have an iPhone, and it's the single greatest invention I have ever owned (and I own a Chill Wizard, which can make a warm beer ice cold in under a minute - it's THAT awesome).

And my iPhone is a great companion on the road. I actually find myself rooting for red lights, as it gives me a chance to do very important things such as getting on Facebook to see what "Sex and the City" character someone most resembles. And I am plenty versed in texting. And I also know how to drive. And the two can exist separately, and the world continues to exist. Amazing.

The argument is often made that it's distracted driving in general that is a problem, not just texting. But texting is in a unique category. If you're say, eating a hamburger, you're physically occupied. But you can still have your eyes on the road.

If you're texting, your eyes are off the road, your brain is off the road and your hands are off the steering wheel. You are asking to plow into the back of someone or over someone.

I am sure plenty of you out there are going to tell me that you are the exception. You're special. You can text no problem. And to that I say, you're not special, you're not the exception, because unless you have a second set of arms and eyes, when you are texting, you are not even on the map of safe driving.

I remember one time when I saw someone reading a book when he was driving. Pretty much everyone except for that person said, "Wow, bad idea, dude." Yet texting seems to be this driving pastime that's just accepted by some folks. Well, quit accepting it.

I know folks get grumbly when you talk about adding new laws on top of things. But I personally would love to see a texting-while-driving law. And it would read: "If you text and drive, you never get to use your phone or car again. Ever. And if there is a child in the car, it's ever times four."

Seriously, folks - there are enough stop lights in the world to send your inane little comments about pointless things when you're standing still. Text away until your thumbs are falling off. Just do it when you're not rolling down the street. Trust me, your friend can wait a few minutes to find out where you are Goin 2Nite.