You Call This a Simple Machine?

Hello pill people, (remember in Princess Diaries when Julie Andrews says "goodbye trolley people!") Oh nevermind...so, I've been spending some good ole quality time with my 12-year-old on her sixth grade thesis which is supposed to be an independent research project. In-de-pen-dent my arse. Who drives to the library for books? Who helps locate appropriate articles on the Web? Who buys binders, index cards, poster paper and the Jolly Ranchers she'll need to keep the audience engaged during the oral presentation? Yup, the non-helping parents. It's enjoyable though, kind of like a root canal.

Reminds me of the fifth grade project we did just last year. Another good time. Here's more on that...

Night everyone. Big Mike got saved on Idol!
Sue

You Call This a Simple Machine?

By Sue Tabb

The much-anticipated fifth year project has finally arrived – students have been commissioned to create a simple machine. This simple machine must contain things like pulleys and levers and hinges. Our toolbox consists of some rusty nails, a spool of wire, a hammer and a half-eaten donut. In fact, in our household, any project that requires using more than a Phillips screwdriver requires a licensed contractor.

So we are faced with the daunting task of taking my daughter’s simple machine vision – the Positively Perfect PB & J Maker – and helping her make it into a reality that is, well, positively perfect.

The PB & J Maker seems like a simple enough concept, except that my daughter has made it painstakingly clear that the working prototype must be an exact replica of her blueprint. The aforementioned design looks like it was scribbled on the back of a piece of paper with a half-chewed crayon. It is not drawn to scale and does not contain any instructions whatsoever.

My daughter’s philosophy is that a trip to Home Depot is the panacea; you just go and get all the “stuff” you need and the machine will magically come together. In her mind it is just that simple. My husband is not so optimistic after said trip to Home Depot where he spent two hours with some guy named Dave who had to help him find the wood glue and custom cut boards to my daughter’s exact specifications. (“The board in the back should be exactly 27 inches. Got that Dad?”)

So now we have some wood, rope, awning pulleys, wire nails, glue, and a big fat chance that we’ll ever be able to make anything that resembles a working machine. In addition, we need to figure out how the peanut butter – thick & sticky as it is – will flow out of the pastry bag after we yank on the pulley which will activate the lever which will in turn squeeze the bag … at least in theory.

I know what you are thinking – let the child build the machine herself! And I thought of that – but giving my daughter a nail gun and a circular saw would not end well. She has my accident-prone gene and I sometimes struggle when handling a butter knife. Hey, don’t judge me.

I don’t mean to mislead you because I actually think this is a superb lesson for the kids – teach them how to delegate work to their parents and take the credit. It’s a lesson they will use in the workforce for years to come. I’m kidding, we are not even remotely competent enough to handle this project and she knows it. She will probably ask her little sister to do it.

I am off the hook on this one but my husband has no choice but to be roped into this project. If he lets my daughter make the decisions and only helps her with some of the trickier parts and handling the tools, I estimate it will only take them 3 or 4 weekends to complete. It’s good quality time they can spend together, minus the cursing and the occasional throwing of a hammer across the room.

Truly, I love my daughter’s teachers, and I’m only hoping I can adequately repay them for this gift. This will teach her the importance of perseverance and patience and bringing Dad a beer when he starts to foam at the mouth. It’s all good.

So my plan is to drop off some materials to the teachers’ house next week so that we are not the only ones having all this fun. That just wouldn’t be fair. I am going to leave them a tack, a dull pair of scissors, a piece of cardboard and a paper cup and ask them to make a Marvelous Margarita Maker, complete with salt on the rim and the distant sound of a Mariachi band. Should be simple.

Meantime, we are going to get working on the Positively Perfect PB & J Maker because one can’t underestimate the usefulness this will have going forward. I am going to donate it to my daughter’s classroom where the teachers can get months of enjoyment from it.

There’s no need to thank me.