"This is going to be soooo easy."
Every time I say that, I'd like to kick my own A.
See these tents?
Just had to build one of these for the boys this summer. 'Cause it would be "so easy". And it would take me, like, "15 minutes".
And the plans are easy.
'Cept they're not.
But they totally are. And yet, they're not. You know how many super "easy" projects I have started in my gay-rage that end up being a pain in my rear? I don't want to talk about it.
How do I put this?
Not to go on a tangent er anything, but perhaps your hubs is like my hubs. And perhaps, when you're putting together anything that requires tools and a paper of instructions, things get ugly.
"These are the STUPIDEST INSTRUCTIONS EVER!"
"WHO TOOK OFF WITH THE SCREWDRIVER?"
"WHOEVER WROTE THIS IS AN IDIOT!"
And so forth. It doesn't matter the size of the project (a bike? small shelves? It mattereth not). The instructions were written by a moron. ("Plato, Aristotle, Socrates? Morons.")
At one point, we had this dealy-o going, where anything that needed to be put together, had to be done when the children were asleep. Minimize the trauma 'n all.
This tent debacle was pretty similar.
You find yourself going "oh. . . no problem-o. . ." as you're tightening the bolts. You think you'll be done in 5. Then the tent, which you did prop up, falls on your head. And it doesn't tickle.
So you set it back up. Prop it a little better. And it still bashes you in the head, because, you know, you're focused on tightening bolts.
15 minutes after you're supposed to be all done, frolicking in this tent with your kids, sipping lemonade and making sweet memories (said in my most annoying mom voice ever), you've gone psycho. You're like Clark on Christmas Vacation, and he's beating the crap out of his light-up Santa and reindeer. And it's you, screaming "What the. . ." twisting your "easy" tent back into place, tightening the bolts for the upteenth time.
And then, your kids are like, "Mom, can I ask you a question?"
And you're like, "It depends. Do you want your head ripped off?"
And they're like, "Huh?"
And you're like, "I SAID, 'DO YOU WANT YOUR HEAD RIPPED OFF?' WELL, DO YA?"
And then you realize, that not only are you super frustrated, but you're also very hangry.
(Hangry, [han-gree] adj: A state of anger and irritability resulting from being hungry.)
So things are pretty much set to code red, at this point. People are backing away slowly-- not making eye contact, that sort of thing.
And you know deep inside, that what you really need to do, is walk away from this project. Eat a good, full meal. Come back to it in a few hours when you're feeling fresh and sane. But you are soooo past that.
Because this "easy!" tent has knocked your head so many times, and taken a good portion of your afternoon, and it is going to get done, or it's going in your backseat for a one way stop, wrapped in a tarp, and you're bringing a shovel.
Not that I've done that before.
And then you're like, "KIDS! Get out here! Enjoy this tent I just mangled together!"
And your kids are like, "Okay-- later. We're playing Playstation."
And you're like, "NO. NOW! AND YOU'LL LIKE IT!"
And then you're kids look like this:
("Someone throw her a piece of licorice or something. . .")
I'm not saying don't build this tent. Just have a good meal, first. Maybe get a helper to hold up your tent for you. Maybe the helper could be your therapist.