The Dryer Incident

Laundry is really not an interesting topic, especially, in my household. As you recall, I’ve mentioned the large quantities of occupants I dwell with, so the sound of a continual washing machine is commonplace around here. Last night, the dryer broke. It just stopped. No more bellowing out the sounds of shoes thudding inside or a zipper clanking. Just call a repair man and have it fixed, you say. End. of. story.

I wish it were that simple.

My Father, "The Bishop" is quite worthy of repairing many things. He has decided he will repair the dryer.
I'm quietly doing some research in another part of the house when I am summoned to the Laundry room. Upon my arrival, I find the dryer is completely disassembled. There is a giant hollow tube in the middle of the room that looks something like a metal barrel without ends on it. This is obviously the spinning device used to circulate the clothes. Even I can asses this. There is also two sides and a bottom of what once looked like a dryer. My father is standing behind the shell of what is left  holding a small black box with some sort of gauge on it and wires extending from it to the dryer. This is a multi-meter I am told. Something to do with measuring voltage or ohms or something. Anyway, he is testing the dryer and needs me to push the button, his hands are full. We determine whatever he is testing is working just fine. He informs me he will be moving the dryer and all of its remaining pieces into the garage, (with the spare refrigerator, I mind you) to continue his exploratory surgery and since "Gadget" has moved in, we can use his dryer until ours is back in service. He'll bring it in from the garage. Great. Case closed.
This afternoon, I walk out into the garage and find "the bishop" hunched over sandpapering his dolly. (a two-wheeled device used to move heavy objects). Without word, I look around and the garage has been transformed into what appears to be a surgical room for a junkyard.

Against my better judgment, I ask, "what are you doing, dad"


“What does it look like I'm doing!  I'm sandpapering rust spots off my dolly.”

“What about the dryer?”

“The dolly has to be painted before It can be used to move the dryer.” 

Again against my better judgment, Why?

“Well. because. it. looks. bad.”

(This is where I really show my stupidty).

"So does the dryer, now."

My obsession with Vodka and the likes....

So I woke up this morning and on my rush to the bathroom, tripped over a transformer action figure and skidded into the loo with the help of a matchbox car. It's apparent my two year old Grandson has moved in with me, along with his entertainment committee, which we will call his parents. I have a houseful of colorful people. Let me elaborate, I have 3 children, of the boy kind. Two are grown with children of their own and one is still in his torturous teenage years. My oldest son and his family have recently relocated to my spare bedroom. My elderly parents also reside with me. I know your thinking, wow it must be a big house....well not big enough! I am going to be taking on life through the bottom of a vodka bottle, or possibly any kind of alcohol I can get my grubby little hands on in bulk. Said teenage son, whom we will call "Ace", simply because he is an incredible student/child. We are so proud, but question his relation to us, he has turned 16 and would like a car. He has several in mind, but lacks funding to match his taste, so that we will be "working" on. Anyway, the eldest, whom we will refer to as "Gadget" because he is always fucking with shit, has become ill and needed a place to reside while recovering/unable to obtain gainful employment. However, this blog is not going to cover any of the above today, no today is about Middle boy, who we could refer to as "Stu" simply because he is, well, stubborn. Just like his mother. Again off topic. "Stu" has decided to enlist in the military. Now, like many of you might be, I am proud of this decision to join millions of Americans serving this great country of ours, I think it's very respectful and honorable. But I'm the mom, SOOOO I kinda hate it too. Only because we are in the middle of a war that may never end. "Stu" is only 19 and the only combat he has had involved a nerf gun. I mean sure he hunted a bit growing up, so he is familiar with guns, but not so much as a weapon of war. I guess he'll undoubtedly learn many things I'm anxious for him to learn and he will have a complete understanding of teamwork and responsibility and many other important factors, and he will have some job security in an ever increasingly poor market. But I find myself kind of wishing he wanted to be a Rockstar. They have treatment for that. It's just the mom in me screaming the words to "Simple Man" by Lynryd Skynryd. “Stu” will be transported via U.S. Military to this swearing in ceremony, which I was told I couldn’t go. I’m not sure if this is a Military rule or a “Stu” rule. Either they don’t let mommy go because they don’t want them begging them not to sign on the dotted line, or “Stu” is afraid I may beg them to come to my house and take them all away. Either way, I feel very out of the loop or ill-informed at best. We spend so many years teaching our children what we think is important and then one day they just up and do it. Sneaky little shits, I didn’t think they were listening.