I haven’t seen Sesame Street for a few years, but I used to really like the idea of Maria and Louis’s little storefront where they fixed people’s broken household items. Mostly I remember it being toasters.
We’ve had so many repairs recently at our own home fix-it shop that when our old toaster crapped out a couple of weeks ago, we just tossed it and bought a new one. Sorry, Maria and Louis. But nobody’s got time around here for toaster repair when this is what’s been on the docket lately:
- Middle Sister’s car, which completely died and wouldn’t start again. Took the husband a week of intense research to trace down the problem, and then another half week to make the repair and get it running again.
- Kitchen faucet, replaced in a mere two hours even though the husband was a streaming mass of virus germs.
- The Husband’s car, which desperately needed new brake pads AND needed some kind of mount or bracket replaced. On jacks in the driveway for three days.
- Regrigerator, which has been peeing giant puddles all over the floor for three weeks. It’s not one of the simple things like the line to the icemaker or the tray that catches condensation. The Husband emptied the freezer last night, did some diagnostic work, and discovered that the appliance will have to be completely emptied, unplugged, disassembled, and repaired. At some point. Not now. For now we’ll put up with fridge pee on the floor, mopped up daily with old towels.
- The back hatch locking mechanism on Middle’s car. Still waiting for the right part for that one.
- The clutch on The Boy’s 22-year-old Jeep , which probably needs to be replaced. I may actually be making headway with my argument that this is a repair that he and The Husband should NOT tackle. I know they could do it. But I also know I want our son to get home safely and easily for Thanksgiving break, and that I don’t want them to spend the entire long weekend on creepers in the driveway and on trips to Advance Auto. We really deserve some family time. I’m arguing for taking it to a garage. Just this once.
I’m holding my breath at this point, waiting for the water heater to explode or the dryer to catch fire. No, I know what it will be. The annual heater freak-out, where a contact gets worn and we have to run up and down the stairs to flip a switch every half hour to make the stupid thing run, until The Husband has time to take a piece apart and clean the contact.
I’d be happy if our personal fix-it shop could be “cerrado” for awhile.