Appliance woes

I don't think you want to be one of our appliances these days: you may be the next to go.

First our fridge broke.
Next our oven exploded.
And then our heat pump went out.

Hopefully bad luck comes in threes, not fours or sixes, because Austin and I are both done with broken appliances. So far we've only gotten one of three fixed successfully (the fridge.) When the repairman came to look at the heat pump that was installed only two years ago, he muttered ominously that though the part that broke was under warranty, the labor charges are not. He said he'd go back to the shop and advocate for us because the labor on that repair is really expensive.

As it happens, I'm about to take the kids and visit my favorite snow bird in Florida, leaving Austin for the second year in a row without heat. (Last year when I went to Florida with Tucker, we were out of electricity for several days from a big storm.)

Thankfully we have the wood stoves, and the heat upstairs, so it's not as big an issue as it could be, though when I came downstairs yesterday morning it was only 53 degrees. Molly enjoyed jumping in the kitchen just as much as usual, and Tucker complained about cold hands once. Otherwise it was business as usual.

Parenting Surprises

Molly is a mellow baby. When she wants to eat she lets me know at low-decibel noise levels. She will even wait patiently while I get ready to nurse (Tucker preferred to scream if food didn't enter his mouth instantaneously). Last night she took patient to new levels.

I heard her squawk once or twice at 12:40 but she wasn't insistent, so I went back to sleep until she was insistent. At 1:40 I woke up again and heard her squawk a couple times only slightly louder. It was earlier than I hoped she would eat, but I was awake and she was awake and it was possible she could make it the rest of the night if I fed her then.

I went into her room and picked her up and discovered she was soaking. I mean SOAKING. We keep our house at 63 degrees and so she wears a sleeper, then two fleece blanket sleepers on top of it. They were all just dripping with water.

I went to change her and what I found made me laugh out loud: she was not wearing a diaper. The diaper hadn't fallen off, it wasn't full... it was entirely missing. Most of the time I would chalk this up to Mommy brain, but this time I had an even better excuse: it was Daddy who put her to bed. :)

Alarm clocks are complex pieces of machinery

The question of the day is: how did I ever function as a single person? More specifically, how did I ever get up in the morning? I have a confession: I am incapable of setting my alarm.

I am not a fan of everyday alarm use. I go to bed early enough that I generally wake up early enough to get where I need to go no problem. I figure if I sleep in a bit too much and rush, that's okay, because I needed the sleep. Oh, and of course, Tucker has been my alarm clock for the past two years anyway. And those rare days when we do need an alarm for a special purpose, well, usually Austin is getting up for the same reason that I am and just sets his.

But still, every now and then I have a need to set my alarm clock. And I fail. Every time. It's ridiculous.

The first time, I had the alarm set 12 hours later than it should've been (AM not PM).
The second time, I had the clock on PM when it should've been AM, so the alarm didn't go off.
The third time, I had the volume too low to hear it.
The fourth time, I thought I had switched the alarm clock on, but really had turned it off.
The fifth time, I had the alarm set to radio, but didn't have it tuned to a station.
Today, I managed to set the clock back an hour accidentally so even though my alarm was set for 6:30 am, it wouldn't ring until 7:30 because my clock was wrong.

And there probably have been other permutations and duplications of the above errors that I'm forgetting. This issue has passed the ridiculous mark and is now somewhere between bizarre and absurd. After all, how hard is it to work an alarm clock?

Helpful living hints

When you are about to put your son down for a nap, don't leave onions sauteeing in oil on the stove, even at the lowest possible heat setting. It may leave a permanent mark on the pan and your husband wondering why the house is filled with smoke.

FYI.

This is the car saga that never ends

My car is getting lonely. It has been spending a lot of time at the mechanic's. Actually, to be exact, it has been on five separate trips to three different mechanics over the past three weeks, and it still is not fixed. Supposedly this time it will be different... I guess we'll find out on Monday.

My car is not having a subtle problem. The problem is that when it first starts up, when you press the gas pedal, it doesn't go. So, I pull out onto the road, and suddenly the car won't move forward. Big problem. Thankfully the problem goes away after a couple of minutes, but I have taken to driving around parking lots several times before going onto the road and other such tricks, to avoid us getting killed.

So, we took it to the first mechanic, who had it for a full week. He replaced the computer in the car. But as I pulled out of the shop at the end of the day on Friday, the car wouldn't go, and I glided back into the parking lot. I did make it home, but back we went to the shop first thing Monday.

Apparently my car only dislikes me because mechanic #1 couldn't get it to hesitate for him. We took it home and crossed our fingers, but soon found ourselves at shop #2.

Shop #2 diagnosed the problem, but said that it only could be fixed by the dealer's $15,000 computer that could reprogram things.

Shop #3 (the dealer) claimed that there is no such error code as my car gave Shop #2. They couldn't find a problem with the car, and wouldn't run any diagnostics based on my or the other shop's information.

So we call Shop #2 and they said that actually they COULD fix it, but they just thought it was a recall issue and the dealer would have to. But wait, since it's not under warranty, it doesn't matter.

Are you confused yet? Annoyed? Me too.

I'm just so thankful that between Austin's spray truck for work and Helen and David last week, that Tucker and I haven't been stranded at home much at all.

One day...

...I'll learn how to park Austin's truck. In the meantime: beware!

Seriously, I've been driving Austin's truck all week due to my car problems, and I have to say, it is no Honda Civic. Today, I dropped Tucker off with Henny and had to navigate into a tiny space next to some little sports car. No limbs were lost, but it was a harrowing experience. Apparently, Austin has taken to backing into all these sorts of spaces... I guess to make it more challenging?

Ooops

I can lose anything that is not tied to my hand. Usually when I mean lose something, I mean misplace it. You know, it's not where it's supposed to be, so it necessitates an annoying 5 minute search just when I'm trying to get out the door.

But then there's another category of losing something, the kind where you open every cabinet, turn over all the cushions in the house, enlist your husband, and spend three days searching, and you still can't find it.

This is what happened to my wallet on Friday.

I FINALLY found it this morning. Guess where?

In the trash. Gross.

Moral of the story: time to pay more attention when putting away groceries and disposing of the plastic bags.

"You might be right dear"

This is one of those posts I've been meaning to write for awhile, but haven't gotten around to. When Austin and I were dating, a family friend, Mark Good told us that one phrase that has proved very valuable in marriage is: "You might be right."

So, say you're in the middle of a heated argument. You KNOW your spouse is wrong. Still, you diffuse the situation and say "You might be right..." (and also you don't say "but" right after it). You say "You might be right. AND..." And then you can totally contradict their opinion, or whatever, but that little sentence opens up the possibility (even if you don't believe it at all) that there is something to talk about, maybe some way to reach some common ground.

About six months ago, I joined Netflix. Austin and I don't watch movies. In our dating and married life, I can probably list the movies we've watched together on two hands. That's like maybe three a year. Maybe. I decided this summer that with our now-total reliance on our antenna, perhaps it would be nice to have a DVD in the wings, just in case we got the urge to flop on the couch on a Friday night. So I joined. I quickly created a huge queue of movies (after all, I haven't been a regular movie watcher since middle school).

Austin thought I was crazy. He thought it was a ridiculous idea that WE would want to watch movies regularly. I think I humored him by using Dr. Good's line "you might be right, dear..." while I otherwise didn't budge in my outlook on Netflix.

And then we rented a dumb movie. Did I mention that Austin and I hardly ever enjoy the movies we do see together? And then we rented another bad movie.

I didn't like the movie Potter.
I didn't like the movie Apocalypse Now.
Meet the Fockers was fun, which Austin thought was crazy.
Thank You For Smoking was mediocre.
I got a season of ER, which it turns out I'm not all that interested in.
We got a season of the Office, which it turns out we had seen almost all the episodes of anyway.

Mostly the DVDs just sat on our TV. And sat. And sat. They would stare me in the face, daring me not to watch them. Not to watch them meant admitting defeat, that Netflix was not a good idea. But watching them was like a chore. Who really wants to commit to a two hour movie after Tucker's in bed? Certainly not me. (You could spend that time blogging, after all. :)

[Did I mention that in our household we keep track of who's right? Like on car trips, we make bets about lots of different things. What temperature will it be when we arrive? In what county will we be when we first encounter rain? How long will Tucker sleep? Etc. On our anniversary trip, I was on fire... I won every battle of the wills. My record was like 20 out of 20. (Okay, maybe like 4 for 4, and then Austin drew even the next day....)]

Finally though, I decided enough was enough. I couldn't deal with another red envelope sitting unwatched and I waved the white flag. I did it. I canceled Netflix. And I told Austin he was right.



Anyway, don't tell Austin

The Brown Mugs From Childhood

When I was moving to Virginia several years ago, I took the opportunity to ask my mom if she wanted the brown coffee mugs that we had growing up. Brown is not really her color, so all things considered, it's kind of funny that we had these very earthy-toned coffee mugs in the first place.

Of course, she was eager to get 25 year old mugs off her hands, and they are now residing in my kitchen. Which brings us to the point of this post: there is no way ANYTHING ceramic is going to last 25 years in our kitchen at the rate we're going.

In the past two weeks (no joke), we have broken:

-a mixing bowl
-a dessert/bread plate
-a big jar of salsa
-a glass pie plate
-two small lightbulbs
-a Christmas ornament

It would be nice to blame it all on a rambunctious kid and dog, but honestly, only two of those items are in any way either of their responsibilities.

Next, let's extrapolate that list to three years of marriage. I was taking inventory of our dinnerware tonight as I was washing the dishes, and was astonished that we are already down to 7 dessert plates (starting at 12). Good thing these are not family heirloom quality, but gosh, it's a bit embarrassing.

Mortification

We enjoyed a glorious holiday dinner at the Clifton Inn, a treat from my mom. It was wonderful food, though I think I am on rich food overload. There is a place for rich, buttery sauces, but really, only so much. I am ready for salads now. A lot of salads. But I guess I'll still make room for the peppermint bark in the freezer

Anyway, on to the mortification. Tonight, I employed my second babysitter for Tucker. I found a great one, with great references. I am so excited to be developing some contacts for reliable, responsible babysitting.

But I almost sent her out the door after an evening of work with only $5, instead of the $50 bill that I meant to. The going rate is $10/hour, and we live in the country and it takes time and gas to get out here.

So it was a simple mix up--I saw the "5" and thought it was the $50 and it wasn't! I thought I had no cash in my wallet besides the $50 bill!!!!! She must've been so surprised and shocked. Thankfully, as she was about to go out the door, she spoke up and told me. Oh, mortification. How horrible! It would be one thing if she knew us, knew that our intentions are to be honest and generous and all that. But this was her first time babysitting, so she didn't.

I've already sent an apologetic email, and at times like this there is nothing else to do but to file away a mental note to be more attentive in the future (why am I not more details oriented???) and to cut myself some slack. And also to remember that God is bigger than all of this.

Oh, sure, it's embarrassing and cringe worthy. Who likes to make a mistake and look bad? And yet, I'm thankful that at the end of the day, I can trust my life, myself and all these petty little details to the God I serve who is so much bigger than all this. And sure, I'll still take the wrong bill out of my wallet, still burn the popcorn, and who knows what else. But in the light of eternity the significance of these things really mellows.

Oops!

Ah, the Christmas festivities have begun! Thankfully, the house didn't burn down in the process of cooking and decorating this afternoon but it turns out neither my husband nor I know how to use a fire extinguisher off the top of our heads. But, also thankfully, quick-thinking Austin thought to bring the flaming pot of oil outside BEFORE any damage was done. The baby's nap was not even disturbed by two screaming smoke alarms and smoke smell so bad we had to leave the doors and windows open, at about 30 degrees and really windy.

So, I was multi-tasking. I was popping popcorn on the stove (why have a popcorn maker when you can just use a bit of oil and a pan you already have?), working on some peppermint bark (GREAT recipe... think I'm getting the hang of it--thanks Helen!), when Austin needs some help with the tree, because it happens to be 8 feet tall, which I think I mentioned before. :)

I leave the oil on the stove, on high (I'm not a patient cook) and become a living prop to hold the tree up while we maneuver it into a stand that is almost too small (do you know how many stores have been sold out of tree stands this year in our area?). I hear the test kernels pop in the kitchen, my cue to put the rest of the popcorn in, turn down the heat and start shaking. But, I think, the tree is about up and I can rush in to save the popcorn, no harm done.

Unfortunately, I missed a teensy-tiny consideration: "in seconds, the oil can ignite, burst into flames and cause a house fire." Turns out this is not government safety propaganda, but the truth! We left the tree to its own devices once the smoke detectors started to go off. I ran to the kitchen and opened the lid to the pot, which promptly caused the flames to shoot up out of the pot. Thankfully, Austin whisked it outside, and no harm was done besides a pot that is going to be HARD to clean.

I even succeeded (eventually) in making popcorn and stringing enough for (almost) our whole tree. Thankfully, my mom arrives tomorrow and I have just enough left over popcorn to put her to work putting the finishing touches on the tree on Tuesday. The one problem is that both the baby and the dog REALLY like popcorn, so the bottom most strand of popcorn is in dire jeopardy. I fully expect it to get munched on by one or both parties several times this holiday season.