This morning my 19-year-old son fussed at me for not blogging. I told him it's because nothing exciting has happened, and he should do something blogworthy so I'd have something to write about. Leah quickly interjected, "Don't break your leg!" If you have a teenage boy, you know why she felt the need to tell him that.
So here's the latest:
Abbey was away all last week for her internship. She and her "boss" came through here Saturday afternoon to swap the boss's car for Abbey truck, and drove to New Jersey for another wedding. In the process of the swap, Abbey dumped all her dirty clothes on her floor, grabbed a few clean ones, and off they went. So by the time she got home Monday afternoon, she had nothing clean left. She plopped down on my bed last night feeling very stressed, part of which was caused by the fact that she had no clean underwear.
This is where the plot thickens. (We have to make drama out of something.)
My dryer has been making an awful squealing noise, which we rightly assumed was the pulley, otherwise know as the doo-dad that keeps tension on the belt. I figured it would be an easy fix since Mike and I changed one of those in another dryer about 12 years ago and it was no problem. So Monday I went to Sandy's (the appliance parts store) and got a new pulley. Came home and unplugged the dryer first (for my husband's sake), then pulled it out and walked around it four times trying to figure out how to take it apart.
I started by removing the door. And two little screws on the opposite side from the door hinges. I don't remember how I got part of the front panel off, but somehow I was able to look inside and see that the pulley in question was way back behind the motor. At that point I did what any intelligent, self-sufficient woman would do. I texted Ben to hurry home.
The short story is that two days and three trips to the appliance store later, we have a noise-free dryer and Abbey has clean underwear so it's all good.
Also, I went out to the farm today for milk and eggs and freshly harvested raw honey, and if you think honey is honey, then honey, you'd better think again. This is the best I've ever tasted, including the 25 quarts of sourwood honey Ben brought into our marriage that took me eight years to use up. This stuff is amazing. It's caused me to utter words I never thought I would hear come out of my mouth: "Girls, you may not use this to wash your faces."
Yes, they wash their faces with cornmeal and raw honey. One of them washes her hair with baking soda and rinses it with vinegar. It's a wonder there's not a school-project-grade volcano in the shower every morning.
Anyway, we're stocked up for the week on milk, eggs, and honey.
And if there were anything else I could wring a story out of, I would. But that's really the extent of my life. Dryers and trips to the farm. I really am going to try to write a little every day. Hold me to it, okay?
Be thankful ~