Small is Tall.

Want coffee? Well then get on board with the lingo, baby!

Sponge Bob who???

Why, Sponge Bob Squiar Paints, of course. Get the picture?

Toni

Small Stuff

Speaking to Olivia in homeschool yesterday;

"Witch and which are pronounced the same way. However, they're spelled differently and have different meanings. They're homophones."

We went on to learn both spellings and the meaning associated with each, followed by further discussion about homophones.

I inquired (half joking), "SoooOOo,...which witch is which?"

She burst out in a giggle and replied, "That's like holiday whoopy what-y."

And now for Olivia's latest Bunkerism, spoken as she laughed at her uncoordinated manner of completing a common task."
"I'm so synthetic."

As always, it takes me a few minutes to figure out what she really meant. She meant to say, "I'm so pathetic."

Toni

Mah Dawgs: The conclusion.

Well, 'em dawgs are replaced. But it wasn't without incident (because I prefer to color my life all pretty like that). Fact is, I'm prone to finding myself in a fix.

I once fixed my own lawn tractor. That little project included an encounter with my missing mop head, which had been converted into a luxurious fire hazard nest up inside the tractor, courtesy of field mice. An interesting phone conversation with Tractor Supply Company ensued, whereby I, a city-born country wannabe, tried to name parts I wasn't even sure existed.

There have been other fixes too. The hillbilly scaffold comes to mind. Carl and I had to paint the stairwell to put our country home on the market. We had no way of reaching the very tall walls inside the well. Solution? A retro end stand turned upside down on our steps, with books then stacked on the inverted side until we had a flat surface on which to place our extension ladder. And yours truly found herself up there taping, trim painting and rolling her heart out. Carl was my wingman, "guaranteeing" my safety by managing to keep the hillbilly scaffold intact until I came down from my own personal Everest. And yes, I had to second coat.

We dug our own dry well too. It's similar to a french drain, only you dig a 5' deep well at the end of it. We needed a place for our foundation water to go (the builder left a lovely length of pipe exposed in our backyard, so on rainy days we had Jamima Puddle duck stopping by for a chit chat.) I'm going to guess you've never dug a 5'deep by 5' long and wide ditch in your backyard, have you? I have. By hand, mind you. Along with a 15' french drain trench. Oh, and we had the pleasure of hauling stone from the driveway to the well. Enough stone to fill it. And naturally it was 90 degrees when we did this. I'm proud to say I was the brain behind that lil' project too.

So, back to the dawgs. They're up inside the agitator (people, they cost $8 and it's a $75 service repair so DIY if your wash machine agitator ever stops moving.) I went online (where I learn how to do all my fix-it projects) and saw that we needed to separate the mover (the upper part of the agitator) from the agitator base. All info said we just needed to pull up on the upper section and the dawgs would be exposed (remember, it's "dawgs" per Bubba).

Well, we pulled.
Nothing.
Pulled harder.
Zip.
Pulled like all get out.
Nada.

I was NOT about to be defeated by a stinkin' piece of plastic. So, I did what any determined foreman would do. I stood on the agitator base and yanked and pulled and tugged and yanked, and BAMM! That baby came flying off like a bat out of,...well, you know. Sent me to the ground like a dart. Pieces parts flew everywhere (so did I). Carl gave me that look. The one where I know he wishes I wasn't always so determined that "we can do this." But, being the ever patient hubby he is, he gathered the parts and set them aside with nary a grumble until we had our replacement dogs (they were on backorder.)

Enter,...the reassembly project. I had my diagram all ready.
But, what's this?
"Honey, there's supposed to be a little black rubber washer or ring or something. Did you take it off when you took the washer apart?"
"Uh uh."

We began searching, knowing that I had caused the launch of parts unknown to all corners of the living room just 24 hours earlier. Carl was crawling around on hands and knees. We moved couches and chairs. I searched the fake flower arrangement with the complimentary layer of dust. No washer washer. We found all sorts of missing parts (a lego, hair ties, Barbie's head), but none that came from the agitator. Next thing I know, I've been demoted to vacuum cleaner dust inspector. Uh huh, I am too serious. I found myself on the back porch with a dry paint brush and a pile of wind tunnel dirt dust to search through for the missing washer. Gross. Swell. Because along with that pine sap allergy, Carl can't handle dust either. Not without an asthma puffer, that is.

I stopped to pray that God would show us where the washer was (I should add that we weren't even sure we were missing this part; just saw it on the assembly diagram online and figured we might have unknowingly lost it during the parts launch). It's so cool when God lets you know He cares about the microscopic moments because just two minutes after I prayed, we found the washer. Buried amid "stuff" on my 'puter desk. Yes, the washer is running again.

And now the story about mah dawgs is told. I just hope it's done for Carl too? Because it seems I complained one too many times that we would need to do a big laundry mat run this weekend. The result? Last night Carl dreamed he had 17 wash machines going at the laundry mat. BAHAHAHAHA!

Toni

'EM DAWGS!

After taking the agitator apart, I do believe Bubba knew what he was talking about. 'Em dawgs are in bad shape. As in stripped. As in teeth looking worse than a 30 year old horse. And thank goodness it's only 'em dawgs that's barkin' in my wash machine. Because the next fix would have had to do with the thing-a-ma-jig and I don't know nothing 'bout that.

Toni

WHEN IT RAINS, IT POURS (part deux)

Sheesh, when it rains, it pours. Part deux, that is. Literally and figuratively. First, the literal. It's been in the upper 50's and lower 60's here for several days. Now, sure. You may be thinking, "Big whoop," but for those of us whom the extreme south brands as "snowbirds", who think white is a seasonal lawn shade? Trust me, we're smokin' hot in the Midwest at the moment.

But sadly for us, there are no glorious trips to the local parks.

No biking, hiking or "break in the weather" barbeques.

Those things would have been great to experience in early January, but it wasn't meant to be.

Rain. Rain. Rain.

Currently, it's in the mid 50's (and raining and THUNDERING, of course). Tomorrow morning? 30 friggin' cold degrees. That's Fahrenheit, folks (which I believe is German for, "Hypothermia sets in snappy fast.") I haven't caught spring fever yet, but when I do, you'll know.
Spring fever cannot be contained. It. Must. Be. Expressed.

As for the figurative rain, it's a torrential downpour there as well. Y'all know we had to replace our heat pump right before Christmas. Stinkin' hunk of Gouda. It was only 5 years old and should NOT have been referred to by the wee hours tech as, "a hefty expense to fix." He began at $900, and it only went up from there. Our final damages were over $4,000 (and that was with a company who was willing to replace our furnace coils as opposed to trying to sell us a new furnace too, which was quoted at over $7,000.)

Well now, the fun has just begun so why stop there, right?

Riiiiiight? (inhale, exhale, inhale,...)

The washer? Well, who needs an agitator anyway. The clothes can just soak in hot water. They don't need to actually move in it, do they? So, no agitator but plenty of agitation. I'm agitated because the agitator, she ain't agitatin'. You follow?

So, I call Bubba over at the repair shop today. I speak fluent English, but apparently with the wrong dialect because the conversation went like this.
"Yes, we have an old model Whirlpool washer and need to replace the agitator. Do you carry such parts?"
"Yis." (and for the record, he actually said, "Yis.")
"Yis? Okay, then. And is an agitator a universal part, or would you need our model number to see if you have one that fits our washer?"
(think Southern drawl) "Say whaaat?"
I repeat myself in English, but with a fake dialect, hoping to assist with comprehension. He continued.
"You don't need to replace the whole agitator. Unless, of course, it's SHOT!"
(Me on the other end.....Huh?????)
"You jis' need agitator dawgs. That's usually all's wrong with the agitator. Replace 'em dawgs and you might be good to go."
"Dawgs. Jis' replace my dawgs. K! And do you have, uh hem, 'dawgs' in stock?"
"Mmm-hmm."
(it's reaally hard to decipher "mmm-hmm" over the phone, especially when the voice on the other end of the line mumbles randomly.)
"And these, uh, dawgs. If they don't work, then you say she's SHOT?"
"Mmm-hmmm. Yes well, you might coulda used the whole agitator in that case."

Okay, so it seems we've gone full circle back to my original inquiry, which was about the whole agitator to begin with, but I guess we'll start with 'em dawgs and see what happens.

And there's PLENTY of agitating going on, I assure you.

It's just not in my machine.

Because what would a good rain be without another pour?

Enter,.....the "check engine light."

I kid you not.

Don't EVEN get me started on that one. Unless I'm stalled by the side of the road, that is. Then by all means, give me a cable jump.
And a ride to pick up mah dawgs, if need be.

Toni

Overheard in the third row

While driving down the road, the following conversation could be heard between our 6yo and almost 5yo.

"You're 8 years old and you have a beard."
(Defiantly) "I'm NOT 8 years old and I DON'T have a beard."
"Yes you do."
"No I don't."
"Yes you dooOOOO! You do have a beard."
"But I'm not 8 years old."
"But you DO have a beard."
"No I DOOOOON'T! I am not 8 years old and I do NOT have a beard. YOU do."
"No, YOU!"

(enter Mom) "Reece, stop teasing your sister. And where in the world did you get that line anyway?"
"From the Grinch."

And coming in with another comment overheard in the second row this evening as we passed a busy commercial zone.
"WOW! Hooters is really busy this evening!"
Carl and I had to keep a straight face, as Olivia has no clue. As I've stated in the past, our girl definitely has A Bit of the Bunker in her. Today she added to her Bunkerisms.
"Dad, someone left a matcher on that table."
"A what?"
"A matcher."
That's Bunker for cigarette lighter (she spotted it in the restaurant we were at.)

And this.
"Olivia, you kids have a dentist appointment first thing Monday morning."
"Aw, tarter sauce. I don't like it when they put that aura on our teeth."
"Aura?"
"Uh huh."
"Liv, what's aura?"
"I don't know. They always put it on and it's supposed to taste good but I can't wait 'til they rinse it off."
"You mean,...flouride???"
"Oh. Yeah."
"It's flouride, Liv. Not aura."
"Well maybe he can stop sucking my cheeks into that straw thing when he puts it on this time."
Sigh.

Toni