(One more note: This post originally appeared elsewhere in February, pre-dating the existence of this blog. I figured you might enjoy reading it.)

Apparently I’m as handy at installing a baby gate as I am at installing a car seat.

Yet, I found myself doing just that this weekend. Ever since my son started crawling a few months ago, he’s been determined to get a hold of the cats’ food. My wife (and the cats) demanded that I put up a gate to keep him out of the kitchen. While we have a small portable and easy to use expanding fence at one kitchen entrance, we had to purchase a larger permanent gate with an swinging door for the larger opening. Which meant I had to install it.

As you may recall from my last post, I dread Weekend Projects, because a) I work long hours during the week and I don’t want to spend my weekends fulfilling an endless list of Things To Be Done like some husbands I know and b) I am about as handy with tools as a blind monkey in a straight jacket.

The gate looked easy enough to install. The box proclaimed that “all you need is a screwdriver.” I can do that. I HAVE a screwdriver! The fewer tools needed, the more likely I am to buy a product. So, I figured that I couldn’t screw this up (pun not intended).

I figured wrong.

But it’s not my fault. The box lied.

Only after I opened the box at home did I see the instructions, which read:

“USING A DRILL AND 3/15 BIT, DRILL A BUNCH OF RANDOM HOLES IN THE WALL”

The box didn’t tell me that I needed a drill! Lying box.

It’s not that I don’t have a drill. I just don’t know where it is. It’s not in my garage with the rest of the cobweb covered tools. It isn’t in the laundry room. The only thing I can think of is that my subconscious, in an effort to avoid all future home improvement projects, guided me to bury the drill in the backyard one night while sleepwalking.

So where does one go when one needs to borrow a drill?

I called my dad, who is an old school Man’s Man. He can build anything and has the tools to do it. Not only does he have a drill, but likely several of them, each which perform some function that I probably should’ve learned in shop class when I was busy reading X-Men comic books I smuggled in. While it occurred to me to ask my dad for help, my ego wouldn’t let me. I’m a man. A man should be able to install a baby gate without calling daddy.

With drill in hand I returned home, ready to install that bastard gate.

Next step on the instructions:  mark eight spots to drill holes where both ends of the gate will connect to the wall via connectors and screws. The box even included a handy EASY TO USE template!  I’d have to be an idiot to mess this up!

Hi, I’m Blogger Dad, also known as Idiot.

While measuring with the template, which is supposed to start at the floor and measure up, I failed to take into account the trim which run along the floor. I, of course, realized this only AFTER drilling four holes and attempting to line the gate up.

Then I had to locate the proper spot to drill FOUR MORE HOLES.

“SH*%!” I cursed as I looked at the holes. I tried to keep my voice down but it wasn’t low enough. My wife immediately popped into the living room, “What? What did you do?” (God, that is about the least comforting thing a woman can ask a guy who is working on something.)

So, I told her. She was not happy about the holes.

“Why don’t you just call your dad to come over?” she asked.

Because a man should be able to install a baby gate!

After drilling the holes and connecting one side, I went to work on the other wall. I vowed to not make the same mistake on this wall.

Of course, I didn’t vow not to make a NEW mistake.

SOMEHOW, despite careful measuring and keeping the trim in mind, I managed to measure and drill one of the sets of holes incorrectly, off by less than a centimeter. Just enough to ensure that nothing lined up and connected.

So… I had to drill FOUR MORE HOLES.

More cursing. More questions from my wife.

My wall was starting to look like Swiss Cheese.

To make matters worse, since I didn’t realize my error until it was too late, I managed to lose four plastic anchors in the wall. I was able to pull them out, but they were mangled all to hell.

I have a question: Am I the only one who destroys plastic anchors every time I attempt to drill them into a wall?

And of course, the gate didn’t come with any extra anchors.

While I would love to have let loose a stream of obscenities so loud that God Himself would pause to look down from the Heavens to see the source of such a torrential of vulgarities, a wide eyed innocent Baby Wright was inches away, watching his inept daddy work. I was pretty sure I saw him shake his head in shame.

I didn’t want him to see me screaming at the fence. So I kept my cool, went to Lowes, picked up a box of 1,000 anchors (just in case I managed to REALLY screw up the gate) and drove home at about 140 mph.

A project which should have taken a half hour, tops, managed to take me nearly all day. I was annoyed. To make matters worse, my wife was annoyed at me being annoyed!

Yes, annoyed at me for the way I handled the whole situation.

Here I am doing something at her request. Something for The Baby, and she’s upset with me?

My wife, bless her soul, is a nice person who doesn’t get angry and curse at baby gates. She has this Pollyanna vision of a husband who smiles at each setback and screw up, who looks at the holes in the wall and cocks his head back and shares a wholesome chuckle with the entire Cleaver family – right before everybody practices Christmas Carols.

Unfortunately for her, she didn’t marry that guy.

The rest of the job went off without a hitch. And for my efforts, I have a nice secure baby fence and eight extra holes in the wall. Which of course means I have ANOTHER weekend project — repairing the holes and painting over them.

I can’t possibly screw that up.

Right?

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