Who needs a dryer anyhow?

I have a talent - a talent for breaking things. Luckily for me, I married someone who has a talent for fixing things. So it all works out. Oh, and electronic devices hate me.

Here is one example:

To write this post, I first had to turn on my computer. Seems easy enough, and for most people this is a fairly easy task, but not for me. You see, my computer had run out of batteries because it had sat in it's bag for too long and I had apparently forgotten to turn it off before putting into said bag. Seeing that I am on a train at the moment (more on that later), I luckily had an available outlet just inches away from me. So I started digging for the power cord so I could plug it in...but with my husband's voice saying "plug it in fast! Fast! Or you will have to restart it again!" [She added way too many exclamation points there, I think she hears those in her head when I'm in a hurry - I'm not the crazy guy on this train, I think that guy is a few rows back.] Unfortunately I have this uncontrollable urge to rebel in a safe and non-destructive way (most of the time), so I automatically went into "slow mode" and, of course, did not make it in time. That or the computer was watching me, waiting for that very last second where my hope is high and I think I will make it...just to die and dash my hope on the cruel rocks of reality. [She would have made it if she didn't go into "slow mode"] I think it enjoys my pain. I really think it does. Of course, I think my husband is in league with the computer, because he too just sat and watched as I frantically attempted to beat the odds only to remark "too slow" when my efforts turned out to be in vain.  [I was plugging in the other end of the cord into the outlet - I'm not sure why she sat waiting for it before plugging her end into the laptop] This pain was only made worse when a simple pressing of the "on" button proved useless in coaxing a start out of this blasted piece of plastic and wires. He sighed and snatched the computer from my hands - getting it to start in a matter of 1.45 seconds. [When a laptop fails to start, here's what I do (other than check that it is plugged in): unplug the power supply AND remove the battery for a few seconds, then hook everything back up.  This battery was dead so just unplugging the power supply for a second was enough to reset things.]  He hands it back to me with a look of "I fixed it for you AGAIN," and went back to whatever it was he was doing.  I then (naturally) started thinking of ways I could make his life less desirable...heehee, I mean... I thanked him beautifully, telling him how wonderful he was and how happy I was to have him as my husband! Perhaps I need to speak soothingly to it? The computer, not the husband.

Back to breaking things... I have done it all my life. I touch something and it spontaneously combusts. Ayla has the same talent. We are destructive together. [This is why I'm training Taylor - so I have backup] So when I left my happy family to embark on a mission of house-wife-ness (err...laundry) the other day, I was not at all surprised when I opened the dryer to discover damp (but slightly warm) clothes and a dryer that sounded like a cat being strangled by spaghetti when I attempted to restart it.

I glumly walked back to the living room to spread the doom of a broken dryer... You see, one of our old beat-up cars had died just the day before, and I did NOT have anything to do with that.  My joy in not being the one to brake [break] something we owned had been sweet...and so, so short. But as I looked into my livingroom at the happy scene before me: Kids playing, music blaring - and my 100% contented husband, sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by rocket toys...err...tools [It was the parts for the new rotary axis on my CNC router] and looking so entirely happy, I just couldn't do it. That and I wanted to savor the whole "I didn't break it this time" moment. So I went off for a bit and folded what laundry I had already dryed.

But sadly, such joy could not last, as we had two loads of clothes that needed to be dried... and soon. So once I got the nerve up, I marched into the living room, head held high and stated "Have I ever told you how good you are at fixing things?" to my wonderful and amazing husband. Now, I would think that the automatic answer to this should have been. "Thank you! You are such an encouraging wife." But no, he sighed (Again with the sighing!) And said "what did you break?"

[I'm pretty sure I didn't blame her for this.  You see, I was expecting something to break.  I woke up that morning thinking about the car with the blown head gasket and had an unnerving feeling that the car wasn't the end of it.  It was a toss up between the refrigerator, the dishwasher, or the microwave.  (expect a future post on one of these) I didn't think about the dryer - I guess that's what you get for worrying in the kitchen instead of the laundry room.]

I was blamed for it. I have an impeccable memory. Even if I cannot spell "impeccable" right (without the aid of spell check). Where is the trust I ask? Where is the trust! [Actually, I may have had a look on my face.  More on that in a minute...]

"I did not break anything." I clearly stated."But the dryer wont start...."

So we marched back to the hallway together. He tried it. I think he was half-expecting it to start just fine for him (or for it to be miraculously healed just because he laid hands on it). It has happened. I'm not joking here. I wish I was, but no - I've seen it. The same strangled cat sound came loud and clear. "I think the belt is broken." he claimed confidently. His 12 seconds [it was 4 seconds] standing in front of the dryer and hearing it speak had made it all clear I guess... And he was right. He made sure to remind me after he opened it up that he had said  that the belt was broken 12 [4] (and a half) seconds after walking up to it.

[I knew it was the belt because when I tried to start it.  The motor spun but sounded like it was spinning freely (no load on it). It does this for a second or two, then stops.  This dryer, and I imagine a lot of others, has a safety feature that stops the dryer if it isn't spinning.  I'm glad - otherwise we might have had half a load of damp clothes on top of a layer of charred clothes.

Back to that look:  I have mentioned that overly full washers and dryers would wear out faster.  Just imagine that skinny dryer belt trying to turn a drum packed so full that you can see the rivets popping out at the seams... stress fractures forming in its walls as that last sock gets stuffed in and the door is slammed shut... OK, I may be exaggerating, but still... FULL!]

As I said before, I break things... all the time. I am very happy and truly thankful that I can come home from taking the girls to gymnastics and discover it has all been taken care of while I was away (though I will admit being a little sad that I no longer had an excuse not to do laundry). 

 I must add one thing here though. I think he is messing with my head (he gets joy out of it). I swear, last week the dyer door opened from the side closest to the wall. [the left] Now that it is fixed, the door opens from the other side. [right...] He claims that he knows nothing about it, but it is true!  He is messing with me! I know it and I personally think that is mean. I may not be able to fix things like he can, and I may get confused as to which side is my right and which is my left, but I KNOW that it is different! It is, it is!

I think... :P

I just realized I never got back to the whole "on a train" thing. I would like to proudly say, that the train worked perfectly the whole time I was aboard. [She was busy booting her computer up for the second time] Perhaps there is hope yet?

[Quick link to a video for anyone else that hears that "strangled cat sound."  This video is intense - it is not suitable for expectant mothers or people with:

• Heart or Blood Pressure Conditions
• Back or Neck Injuries
• Motion Sickness or Dizziness
• Sensitivity to Strobe Lights
• Arm or Leg Casts
• Recent Surgery or Easily Aggravated Conditions

Also, be aware that the grease on the idler pulley is red.  If you pull your hand out and it looks like it is covered in blood - you do not really need stitches... unless your grease is another color, in which case I'd consult your physician or the nearest emergency room.]

Bubbles, Bubbles.

It was a normal Saturday morning. Mom and dad were sleeping, or attempting too. I could hear the soft sounds of my two big kids quietly playing together in their room. It was 7:00am, sleeping in by parenting standards.

And then it all went downhill fast.

A small child ran into our room. "We are doing the dishes mom." She said gleefully. And then, not even checking to see if I was truly awake or not, she was gone again. [You forgot the previous sleep interruption where she runs into the room, slams into the bed, then runs back yelling "They're asleep! I just jumped on their bed and they didn't wake up!"  THAT should have been  our warning.]  I knew that tone; it was not so much an exchange of information as it was an admittance of guilt. This had been my opportunity to put an end to her behavior - if I wanted to. I had missed it by not catching her in the 2.4 seconds it took her to tell me and flee the scene. Her guilt from doing something she knew she generally needed permission for was prompting her to inform me, but her morals ended there. I had been informed, I had not stormed out of bed - therefore she now had permission to continue "washing the dishes."

I laid still for a moment, listening - a moms' best tool. There were no sounds of dishes clinking, no water running. Could it be that this was an imaginary game they were playing? But no, the tone had been unmistakable. 

I didn't have to wonder long....

"Mom!" My four year old yelled as she bounded back into my room. "The washing machine is exploding!"

NOW I bounded out of bed. A quick glace at the silent washing machine on my way out into the hall assured me that it was the dish-washer she intended to say...

Now -  my kids have a book. It was one of those dollar spot Sesame Street books you can occasionally get at target. Now let me see if I can remember all the words...

Bubbles, Bubbles on my nose.
Bubbles, Bubbles on my toes.
Bubbles, Bubbles in my hair,
Bubbles Bubbles EVERYWHERE!

Bubbles, Bubbles float on top.
Bubbles, Bubbles, Pop pop pop (that is my 14month old's favorite part)

There is more to the story, but I think you get the idea. And if you still are clueless as to what the problem was, let me educate you on what happens when you use dish washing soap in the dishwasher, instead of dishwasher detergent:

Needless to say - I gathered towels.

You see - this blog is not so much about kids and the shenanigans they cause - this blog is about how our daddy can fix anything. And I mean anything. There will be two parts - my side of the story, and his. Hopefully in the midst of it all you can glean some useful information. For instance, what to do if/when YOUR child decides to...er..."help" with the dishes.

If you haven't noticed already, I like words. A lot. So if you don't want to be bogged down with words, I suggest you only read his part. Trust me, it will be better that way.

This is how the fix looked to me:

Dad pulls himself casually out of bed with a sigh. You see, it is waffle morning. That means dad makes breakfast...but that now wont happen until the kitchen is clean. Well, technically the kitchen [and the single sippy-cup in the dishwasher] is clean [well, the outside of the cup was clean - it works a lot better if you take the lid off of it before you wash it]. It is getting cleaner by the moment actually! Clean meaning NOT covered in bubbles.

He immediately makes the dishwasher start draining, how he knows exactly where to turn the knob to make it do so is beyond me. But he is kinda the "electronic-item whisperer" Ooh! Maybe that should be the name of this blog! [Between cycles, the dishwasher drains the water from the previous cycle before starting the next one.  I just set it to the rinse cycle and start it.  You might have to set it to the end of the cycle before it if yours drains at the end of a cycle instead of the start of the next.]

Anyhow - he grunts once or twice, probably speaking the language of the dishwasher. And then walks into the garage and out into the front yard. 

Of course - makes sense...right? That is totally what I would do too if faced with a kitchen floor of bubbles. Right? [It was sunny and cool out there - I should have grabbed a lawn chair and a book.]

He comes in a moment later, with the garden hose. I am suddenly filled with a sense of dread I cannot truly explain. [In her defense, there was probably a maniacal look on my face when I walked in, but that's normal whenever I've been in the garage for more than a few seconds...  or I'm responding to an emergency before I've had my coffee.  Today, both cases were true.]

He then proceeds to spray out the inside of the machine, closes it, drains it, does it again. OK, the whole hose thing makes sense now.  [This wasn't the first time I've had to clean overflowing dish-soap from this dishwasher.  You could let the rinse cycle fill it up, run for a bit, then drain again, but that takes a looooong time.]

Then my earlier dread is explained as a child shows herself to be mischievous and un-rully (as small children do occasionally, especially before parents have had their coffee) and the glint in my husbands eyes as he points the garden hose at the child...who is in my living-room, makes me panic for a moment. And I realize that I am not entirely sure he is not going to spray a stream of water directly into the living-room! [I wasn't sure either.]

He doesn't. [This time] All it takes is 3-4 minutes of rinsing and everything is sparkling again. No more bubbles, no more mess.

Then coffee and waffles are made and all is right in the kitchen. You see, our daddy is very good at fixing things. He fixed the dishwasher, the dirty kitchen floor, the tired mom and the hungry family all in the space of an hour!

We like him a lot, he is very useful to have around - aside from the whole "threatening to saturate my living room" thing [..and the tool budget].  But we forgive him these things anyway, especially when he makes waffles.