Cursive, boys, and a day of minor domestic crises

Jacob’s friend Colin is spending the night tonight, and they are in high spirits. In the interest of giving Christian a bit of peace and quiet, Jordan sent them out to me to practice their cursive. This made Jacob indignant because he’d already done his cursive for the day. But I never knew cursive should be so funny Hilarity ensued. Giggles and high-pitched screams. No wonder Christian needed twenty minutes off.

Even minor domestic crises come in threes, I’ve decided. This morning, I knocked, pushed, shoved, whatever, the control to my bed, the thing that raises and lowers the head and foot, etc., off the bed in the tiny space between the bed and the wall. Before I was out of bed for the morning, I fretted about that, fearing I couldn’t reach down and get it out. Then I’d have to ask Jordan, which struck me as bothering her. But I discovered there really is a small space between bed and wall, and I reached down and got it easily. Lesson learned about those controls I keep on the bed—the thermostat, the bed control, and the cell phone. I will now watch where I put them.

Next I discovered that the commode was running—again. It does that with far too great frequency. Not a major problem because all you have to do is reach in, adjust the flap, and stop it. But it becomes a major problem because the top of the tank is heavy enough that I can’t balance and lift it. Jordan fixed it, and I called our contractor who said it might be a minor adjustment and he’ll come by in a couple of days to see if he can fix it. I’m hoping to avoid the expense of a plumbing call. I adore the man I consider our family plumber, but his company is merciless with charges for every little thing. A trip charge is exorbitant.

I got ready to cook my breakfast and blew the fuse in the switch plate where I plug in the hot plate. Try as I might, I never can restart that thing. Christian came out and fixed it for me. He says I don’t push hard and fast enough to connect it to whatever. “An electrician you’re not,” he said, and I told him about a former employee at TCU Press who used to roll his eyes and explain to people, “She’s not handy.”

So crises solved. And no rain today. The Atmos (gas company) crew chief came by and inspected the problems his crew’s work had caused—a sprinkler head that bubbles constantly, two sinkholes in the backyard that get worse with every rainstorm. And they’re fixed. Kudos to Atmos, because the workers are without exception pleasant, willing to help, and the crew chief is really easy to work with, grateful when we appreciate his men.  What a pleasant change from what might have been.

So here I sit, with giggling boys and a dog who wants to be part of the fun but isn’t sure how. Wonder if my twenty minutes if almost up.