It’s been another week of the washing machine flooding the basement. I have used the machine as sparsely as possible, but StacheMan’s work uniform must be washed nightly and the youngest child only has two pairs of pants that fit. The soggy towels obviously can’t wait at all. The husband figured out how to use the shop-vac to reduce the flooding, so every load has been accompanied by the deafening sound of his sawdust sucking machine.

Today was the day. The promised service call. The no-nonsense Repairman showed up, looked at the stove we told them on the phone had a light burned out, declared that he would be back in a week to fix it aaaaand left.

Double digit phone calls later, we have a second Repairman en route to look at the washer. He is scheduled to arrive at dinnertime and I now expect him to say, “It’s broken. I’ll be back to fix it next week.”

Are we having fun yet?

Update: “”It’s definitely broken. I’ll be back next week to fix it.”