My Morning

a play in one act, for your amusement

Setting: 5 a.m. Friday. The sun has not yet risen. A cool spring breeze flows gently through my bedroom, where Darling Husband and I sleep to the melody of robin-song.

Smoke Detector 1: Let me sing you the song of my people

Smoke detectors 2-infinity: We will sing with you, brother

I rise and stumble downstairs to listen to the glorious chirping

Unfortunate Puddle: Let me bathe your feet in cold dog urine. All the girls are doing it.

I fumble for the mop and spray bottle and clean a bazillion square feet of wood floor

Unfortunate Puddle: I shall return!

Smoke Detectors (all): Chirpety chirp squeak squeal!

I take matters into hand

Smoke Detector Eleventy: I weep for for your ignorance as you tear me from my hearth and home. SDE screams in mighty agony

All the other smoke detectors wail in disbelief. The children wake and begin to cry. I mercilessly storm through the house, pulling down smoke detectors and gently stacking them for later battery replacement

Smoke Detector The Last: I will sing intermittently and at random, in mourning for my family. You.Will.Not find me.

I spend 20 minutes searching for the last smoke detector and finally find it in the unfinished basement

Me: AHA! Gotchu, fucker!

Unfortunate Puddle: I'm ALLIIIIVVVEEEE! Let me shower your hand and arm with dog urine, filtered through the floorboards above. All the girls are doing it.

I throw the soaked detector in the trash and mop myself with paper towels as I head to the shower

On-Demand Hot Water Heater: Poor girl, let me shower you with delightful hot water. Better?

Me: mmmm.

ODHWH: PRANK! switches instantly to ice water

Me: FFFFUUUUUCCCCCKKKK!

Alarm Clock: Wakey, wakey rise and shine! Are we ready for another GREAT day?

*The End*

Dishwasher

My husband takes great pride in his family tradition of thriftiness. I have to admit, that can wonderful. We have genuine antique glass door knobs throughout the house, salvaged from alleys throughout the city. I can always find a twist tie or small piece of string when I need them. Our bank account is healthy.

But sometimes frugal crosses the line into stingy.

When I was pregnant with our first child, my husband remodeled our kitchen. It was tiny before, and not much bigger afterward – maybe 125 square feet – but when he was finished I had drawers to store things, shelves to store more things, and he had somehow made room for a dishwasher. It wasn't quite top-of-the-line, but a generous gift from my Aunt P made it possible for us to buy a really nice machine. It had a disposer in the bottom so stray food particles would be ground up and washed away. The top rack was adjustable. The flatware basket was in the door and could be removed for easy emptying. Boy did I love it! Bottles, high chair parts, daily dishes – my miracle machine could handle anything. So when we moved to our next house five years later, there was no question: we brought the dishwasher with us.

Two years ago I started noticing a little grime on my dishes. I took the dishwasher apart (thank goodness for internet DIY instructions) and found a couple pieces of broken glass and some bone bits in the bottom. I emptied a clogged filter then put everything back together. Sure, the (now eight year old) dishwasher was a little noisier than when we first got it, but considering how often we ran the thing, it was doing pretty well. Except, it wasn't. Gunk started building up. I was having to rinse glasses before I put them away. I took it apart again but found nothing.

We spent $100 to have an appliance repairman take a look. He found nothing.

My mom learned that dishwashing soaps had been reformulated to remove phosphates. I switched brands, then I switched again. Noisier, dirtier. Over time the top rack broke, and we jerry-rigged a repair. Some of the rubber coating on the racks peeled off. We tried a second appliance repair place. Another $100, glasses still grimy, plates not quite clean.

I started making noises about replacing the dishwasher. I began reading reviews, assessing features. DH finally heard and in May I came home from work to find a gaping hole where the dishwasher had been.

There were three salvaged machines on the back porch.

He installed the first one in June. It didn't work. After three days of tinkering it was returned to the back porch. The second didn't work, either. The third turned on and filled, but wouldn't drain.

The kids learned how to manually wash up. I did a lot of grilling to minimize dishes.

Mid-July I brought in Ken. Our favorite repair guy, he'd fixed our fridge when a stray magnet caused the motor to burn out. Ken came out, tinkered and futzed with number three. He left and came back to replace the mother board. He checked the plumbing. He visited three times (for only $175 total), but never could get it to work. In the end it was exiled to the back porch with the other two.

Two months had passed. DH was out of used dishwashers. He offered our original troublemaker to Ken in trade. Ken agreed. He came back one more time, with a low-end machine of his own. He installed it, plumbed it, ran it. No matter that there was no sanitize cycle. Who cared about a pre-rinse stage. We had a dishwasher!

The kids and I had gotten into a routine. We continued to wash the dishes by hand, afraid to jinx ourselves. Finally, realizing that school was about to start, I decided to switch back to mechanized cleanliness. DH was not happy. Before I could wash the first load, he asked when Ken was going to have the original dishwasher repaired and installed.

I gaped. Why, I asked, if we were just having the original repaired, would we have gone through all that nonsense with the other four? I was fine with the bare-bones box under the counter. It washed, it drained, it was installed. DH would have none of it. He thought I wanted our first dishwasher. By mid August Old Faithful was back in place. Ken had taken it apart as best he could, cleaned out the filters and washed the hoses. I sadly gave Ken a final check for $75 and fearfully loaded it up. My fears were justified.

So now, for the low, low price of $450 in repairs I have my ten-year-old dishwasher back under the counter. Sure, it's a little ghetto with the zipties holding the top rack together, and the rust streaks where the protective rubber is gone. And yeah, we have to rinse the dishes both before and after we run the machine. But we're a thrifty family, and I'm not putting any more money into this. Although I might spend $25 on a good counter-top dish rack. Doing the dishes by hand builds character. Right kids?

In which I triumph over snakes

There I was, faced with a non-functional DVD player. That may not sound particularly tragic to more worldly people, but in our little household the DVD player is one of our primary sources of entertainment, especially when we bond in a ritual that we've come to call "Friday Family Movie Night". It's more impressive with capital letters, don't you think? Today is Wednesday -- the clock is ticking toward Friday evening, and I have a bazillion important things other people need me to do, so what better time to completely dismantle the entertainment system and attempt to rewire the whole shebang, McGyver-style, during the few hours the kids were entertained by a massive snowfall?

I got everything taken apart, cables lying everywhere like snakes (aha! a reference that explains the title!) or, perhaps more accurately, intestines. The kids occasionally stuck their heads in like worried family checking on a surgery-in-progress. But I couldn't make it work. One device would work, leaving two others hissing at me as I pushed the mute button on random remotes, also scattered like casualties around the carpet. Or I could get them all to sort of work, but the DVD player was only showing in pink. Or the TiVo wouldn't recognize the antenna, sadly blinking "no signal" at me. I delved into my box of random cables acquired over time, switching the red/yellow/white trio for the red/green/blue one, and then trying (again) the s-video, and occasionally hearkening back to the old coaxial. At one point I realized I had a cable exiting and entering the same device. Oops.

I changed strategies. Google guided me from despair to anguish to resignation, with occasional teasing passages that almost got me fixed up, until I learned I would need 75 Pounds Sterling for the correct part (because I was reading an English TiVo blog at the time). Finally, I gave up and headed to Target, hoping to find the right magical cable for under a hundred dollars.

Wrong cable (for a good price). In fact, I have no plugs into which I can plug that particular cable. I think I picked it up with a healthy dose of wishful thinking. We got home and my little angels looked at me with their sparkling eyes, begging to be able to play Wii because they were going through withdrawal. I laughed harshly and told them they might never play Wii again. I could hear their pillow-stifled sobs from the living room as I again approached the machines.

Then, I got it. I found a diagram online, printed it, and took it with me to the living room. Of course, none of the devices or connections shown on the diagram related in any way to my personal set up, but suddenly I was surrounded by a blue glow and I began working in a steady, inspired fashion. Tab A, Slot B. TiVo video? Check. Audio? Check. Wii video and audio? Check. Even better -- they were routing audio through the Surround Sound, so it was even BETTER than before. Oh, yes, an electronics goddess! DVD audio? check. Video? Pink. Unhealthy, unholy, reminiscent of Pepto Bismol. *sigh* And again lightning struck -- a few buttons on the remote, and voila! Perfect video.

I slowly rounded up the leftover pieces, shoved the old TV aside (I installed a new one which had been meant for a father's day present, but I thought I needed it to make this whole thing work), and trudged to my desk to write up a detailed explanation of how to make this whole thing work. But I won! The wiring-snakes are now coiled in the random-electronics box, the three remotes are labeled, the instructions are taped where everyone can find them, and I won't have to mess with this again for a few weeks, when the new TiVo arrives.

But I'm pretty proud of myself, even if it did take all stinkin' day and someone more knowledgeable would have been finished in an hour (two at the outside). So now I can go watch TV and continue to ignore all the tasks my ToodleDo account keeps reminding me about.

A little story

My husband tells a story about a junk yard which was protected by two big, fierce dogs.  When the yard was open, the dogs contented themselves with occasional menacing grimaces, but as soon as the gates were locked they became hell hounds, ready to protect the junk to their utmost.  Well, one Monday the yard owner noticed that some of his property was missing (I've always wondered how junk yard owners keep track of their inventory.  But that's another thought balloon), despite his vicious guards.  This went on for several weeks.  Finally the owner decided to visit over the weekend.  When he arrived and made some noise, he was astonished to see his pooches trot cheerfully out, ready to greet their visitor.  It turns out that the dogs were conditioned to be nice to visitors during business hours, and turn on the mean only after the day was over.  The thieves had figured this out, and had happily taken advantage of the situation.

All of this is a round about explanation for why I was up at 6:30 a.m. on a misty moisty Mother's Day Sunday.  Thanks, dog!  Other than being awakened before the crack of dawn, I had a lovely day with my mom (I love you, Mom!), Dad, kids, and honey.  I hope you also had a peaceful, love filled day.

Wake-up call

My little girl wandered into our room at 4:30 this morning to use the bathroom.  All  went well until she discovered the toilet paper was not in its usual place (the holder broke and Dad has yet to fix it).  So at about 4:35, she started crying at me, "Momma, I can't find the toilet PAP-ER!"

Alarmed out of a confusing dream into an even stranger reality, I attempted to address the situation without actually rising.  From underneath my pillow I first suggested she look on the windowsill.  That was, loudly, declared an unacceptable response.

I suggested she check the floor.  That, even more loudly, also was not acceptable.

Still clinging to the absurd notion of bedrest at 4:40 in the morning, I, also rather loudly, suggested she use tissues from the two boxes on the back of the toilet.

Will made some noise about Violet needing to quiet down.

Violet responded to us both by going into full-on, fire-truck quality, emergency wailing.

I did not handle the emergency well.

I dramatically threw the covers back, stormed into the bathroom, flipped on the light (I would have done so with flair, if light switches were only less pedestrian), grabbed the toilet paper from it's perch next to the tissues, and forced it into her hands with a less-than-polite comment.  Then I flounced back to bed (turning the boring old lights off on the way) and buried myself under the covers.  Violet silently wiped and pulled her jammies back on, then lay on the floor on my side of the bed and quietly cried the kind of intermittent, hurt tears she will someday shed by herself in a locked bathroom.

I asked Will to (gently) put her back in her bed.  Then I proceeded to dramatically, angrily, not sleep for another fifteen minutes.  Finally I got up, checked on Sam, and crawled into bed with V, who cheerfully turned and gave me a big hug before (triumphantly?) turning over and going back to sleep.

As a result of this early-morning tableau I am tired and cranky, and fairly certain that Violet won. Not just because of that hug in the dark, but because, when I finally dragged myself out of bed this morning and went to the bathroom, I couldn't find the toilet paper.

I should be making dinner

but I haven't been to the grocery store in five days, and I don't know how to make dinner with what I have left in the fridge and cupboards. I've been trying (as have we all) to save money, and one way was to use some of the bounty from my cabinets. We've made it a couple of weeks that way, but unfortunately, that now means creating dinner using ingredients like: two limp refrigerator carrots, cheddar cheese sticks, a can of water chestnuts, three unopened jars of curry powder, Cheetos, a can of baked beans, and random segments of deep-frozen lamb that would take hours to defrost.

I need to pitch a new reality TV show to some network.  I'd call it "What's for Dinner?" and send a celebrity chef into a randomly chosen home, giving him or her 45 minutes to create a nutritious, balanced, tasty meal with whatever is in the cupboards/freezer/fridge of the house in question, and regardless of the state of the kitchen (What?  You have to work around dirty dishes in the sink? There are no sharp knives? Welcome to the REAL world). It'd be particularly fun (challenging) to send gourmet chefs into households in food desert areas (under-priviledged neighborhoods where food is only available from convenience stores or big-box stores) and see what they can do. All recipes would then be published for real families to use.

Ultimately, a second review of the deep freeze turned up some hamburger, which, when combined with the tortilla chip crumbs from the back of the pantry, chopped up cheese sticks, slightly fermented salsa (vegetables -- with a kick!) and some canned (white northern) beans should be able to pass as nachos. Dinner, anyone?