I’m driving on the highway and Nate says this to me:
mom mom hey mom mom let me ask you no let me TELL you something mom hey mom mom mom hey mom remember when remember remember when remember when we went to that stain tation? HAHAHA I mean hey mom mom hey mom remember when we went to the train remember the remember when we went hey mom mom hey remember when we went to the train station and took the train to the museum remember that?
The farking washing machine will fill and it will agitate. I encourage and even reward those behaviors, but I’m about to get super authoritarian about the not draining and the not spinning. I bailed out the tub, and pulled it away from the wall (back is already feeling that one) and vacuumed some of the dust balls that were hiding from the congressional steroid investigations and unplugged it. I need to get the drain hose off first, too see if there’s a pair of ninja turtle underwear in there or something. If that’s clear, then I’ll have to take the outer part off and get to the pump. If the pump is busted, I’ll order a new one. If I get stuck, I can call my brother. And, if I royally screw things up beyond repair. . . maybe I could get a floor model of something like this for a discount. The not calm washing machine works harder than all of us put together.
I’ve got easter eggs boiling on the stove, so I ought to go pay attention. Tomorrow we’ll go to my mom and dad’s for brunch. I was going to bring a little something, but my mom let me off the hook because of my washer and because Nate is complaining of a sore throat and I had to take him in to get a culture this afternoon. Fingers crossed.
I’m considering whether or not it would be worthwhile to join the geeeehova witnesses. At least one, usually more, of the kids has a party to attend every single weekend lately. I’ve bought a lot of bion ic les.