We went to Lowe's today, looking at outdoor carpet. We're thinking that since it's going to cost $$$ to get the new liner for the pool, we'll put off refinishing and/or replacing all of that decking and just lay some outdoor carpet over it instead.
While we're checking out the clearance (but of course) we saw a nice stainless steel Frigidaire dishwasher for half off because of a scratch along the front of it. Most of you know my kids, and well, you can guess how long anything survives in this house without scratches anyways. But no problem, we think we can buff it out so we bought it.
Get it home and there are no instructions. *gulp* No problem, Chris finds them on the internet. All is going well until one of the new fittings doesn't fit one of the old fittings. No problem, quick trip to the handy ol' Bad Mart, and problem solved. Kind of, at least, because at three hours into it, I sit in here typing, and Chris lays in the kitchen floor using power tools.
While he was out getting parts, I decide to make him a lovely bagel with egg and leftover bacon. I get out the frozen french butter, I whip up the eggs with half and half, fleur de sel, and Special Extra-Bold fresh ground black pepper, I lovingly tend them closely, I toast both sides of the bagel, then I melt the Havarti over them until it's bubbling temptingly, then....I wait. And wait.
I stand and stand and stand, because at this point in my pregnancy, between the ever-growing belly and the stretching hip sockets, getting back up isn't a lot of fun and I know that as soon as I sit, I'll have to get back up again. But eventually I give in, and I swear that the SECOND my butt makes contact with the sofa, the VERY SECOND it brushes the leather, I hear the garage door open. No problem, I use the pendulum motion of my giant belly to swing me right back up.
Chris comes back upstairs and tells me he's actually been in the garage quite a while looking for a particular tool. No problem, I pop the bagels and bacon back under the broiler, and in no time at all, I'm serving up two de-li-cious bagels made with the finest ingredients I could procure out here in hillbilly paradise, served fetchingly upon my colorful Fiesta ware plates with fresh strawberry slices on the side.
Cheerfully, I call my hard-working man to the table, but he's busy. So I wait, then I think: forget that, I'm starving. It is, indeed, delicious. About half way through my bagel, Chris comes to the table and I anxiously await the accolades. No problem, I console myself when they aren't forthcoming, he's tired and irritable, and let's be honest: my fancy eggs don't taste any different than my regular eggs made with 2% milk and Sam's brand butter.
Well, that's been my evening so far. It's nearing ten o'clock p.m. now, and Chris just grabbed the computer from me for a second. BRB.
Okay, I'm back now, and Chris was just checking to see if he was RUNNING the newly installed dishwasher properly!! So far, so good. Just keep your fingers crossed that there are... that's right....no problems.