The "joys" of home ownership

My dishwasher is broken. Yesterday, it was the water pump. Last week, it was the UV filter. For six excruciating weeks this summer, it was my oven.

This is not what I signed up for when I signed my mortgage papers.

In the past nine months, the "joys" of home ownership have manifested themselves as a temperamental garage-door opener, a broken washing machine, an oven on the blink, the same oven that finally gave up the ghost, a smoke-filled basement, a leaky dishwasher, and two fried water pumps. And that's just the appliances.

But today it's my dishwasher. The day the Man In My Life left to go moosehunting, on the eve of my father heading to the nation's capital on business, and the morning after the only man in the office left town for good.

Don't get me wrong - I paint my own walls, clean my own chimney and mow my own lawn. But I leave electrical stuff to those who can at least pretend to know what they're doing. In general, those people are the men in my life. 

Here's how I dealt with the useless piece of crap dishwasher today: I ran it twice. Pretty clever, huh? Now instead of mildly sudsy dishes, there is caked-on crud baked into the porcelain and glassware. Apparently, the water supply to the dishwasher is compromised. I wonder if it has anything to do with the fried water pump of yesterday? It's been replaced (I sprang for a new one this time), but the flow just isn't what it used to be. For this same reason, I am coming up on three days without a shower.

My hair is surprisingly lush.

That could just be the pregnancy hormones.

A word to the wise? Don't get between a pregnant woman and her dishwasher. That's right, Water Flow, I'm talking to you.