Today is laundry day, but this morning our dryer broke down.
FOILED! I’ve been FOILED by FAULTY TECHNOLOGY! NOOOOOOO!
When I went to pick up William from preschool, I was informed that he was sick, with a fever. We headed to the doctor, and yup: ear infection. The neat thing, I guess, is that he was acually able to articulate his needs: “Left ear hurts, Mom.”
The great thing is that we live two doors down from some of the kindest people on earth. I’ve spent much of the afternoon hauling baskets of wet laundry over to take a spin in their dryer. And even if this particular family hadn’t been able to help, I know that I could have also taken the clothes across the street, or to the houses kitty-corner from ours. It’s a great place to live, even if my family is regarded as being “odd” because I eschew vinyl lettering, don’t take trips to Hawaii for spring break, and have only three children.
But I digress.
A good chunk of the morning was spent crouched behind the broken dryer on the possibly the world’s filthiest linoleum (hey, how do YOU clean back there?) accompanied by naught but a rachet set and The Fix-It Yourself Manual, only to discover that our dryer is so old that it can’t be fixed by me. The book recommended removing the back panel to test the machine’s various electric components. However, the back panel on my dryer can’t be removed because there IS NO BACK PANEL — the sides and rear of the machine are all one continuous strip of metal. (Alas, I didn’t realize this until after I had ratcheted off half of the bolts.) Repairing it would require a dismantling of the entire machine, and considering that the problem is most likely a burnt-out heating element, it might not even be worth it.
This dryer is from the Nixon administration, after all. No, it’s not avocado-colored (like my oven). It’s goldenrod.
Add to this mix a few classic Jeffrey moments (he climbed down a window well and spent time throwing rocks at the window; he wandered off to a friend’s house without telling me, got caught trying to climb inside the broken dryer, etc.) and you can probably understand why my head is begging for mercy right now.
When Brian came home, he tried to comfort me: “Hey, at least it’s not a Job Day.”
Har de har har.