People always ask me how I have enough time. How can you possibly post a new furniture plan every single day? When do you sleep?
The awful secret is that my home is suffering. Dishes don’t get done immediately, and floors are no longer vacuumed daily. Laundry is piling up, socks and underwear are stuck in the crack between the wall and the dryer.
But I’ve fallen in love. After years of being a perfect housewife, the person – not the woman, the mother or the wife – the person in me has goals. A housewife is only appreciated when she’s not there, when dinner isn’t cooked, socks aren’t clean, bed aren’t made. But me, on my blog, where you can’t see that I’m covered in spaghetti sauce, I am valued. Or at least I feel valuable when you read my blog.
Housework still has to be done, so I do dishes while I cook dinner and clean the microwave. I read stories to my daughter while my mind wanders to my blog. I put everyone to bed, and then sneak out of bed and write, and drink an extra cup of coffee in the morning. I cram the washing machine so full that it threatens to stomp out of the laundry room on spin cycle.
And one day, it does. There is an awful crashing noise, and I know that I have put too many jeans in the washer, just like I put too many dreams in my head.
My husband is just as busy as me. After a week of no laundry, he says, “Buy a new one. I don’t have time to look at it.”
But I know we don’t have money to buy a new one.
I have never worked on a washing machine. I don’t even know how it works.
But I do know how a screwdriver works. So I try to open the washer up. I unscrew the wrong screws, can’t find the right wrenches. Finally, I just get frustrated and pry the front open. It pops open, and I’ve discovered a secret – that is how you open up a washing machine.
With the tiniest bit of success, I begin to feel more confident. I unplug the washer, and peek around. Lots of grimy dirt. Maybe that is where all the sawdust on my clothes ends up. It takes me a bit to figure out how the washer works. The bucket is suspended with rods that fit in brackets around the tub. And one of the brackets is free! The bucket popped free of one of the brackets when I overloaded the washing machine.
After much prying and some help from the neighbor, I get the tub back in the bracket. I cautiously test the washer out.
I put a tiny load in.
It still works.
When my husband comes home, he asks, who fixed the washer? I tell him, our neighbor came over and looked at it. He shrugs and says, “You look pretty. Is that spaghetti sauce in your hair? What’s for dinner?”