Father's Day Weekend: A Mixed Bag

Father’s Day weekend had moments of promise, as The Spouse and I were lucky enough to attend an exciting Red Sox game on Saturday where the Sox beat the Dodgers in the ninth thanks to the heroics of Dustin Pedroia. The only thing that marred the experience was the nearly purple-faced grandfather sitting behind us, accompanied by his grandchildren, who bellowed from the pit of belly, “TRAAAAAAI-TOOOOR!” every time former Sox outfielder Manny Ramirez got up to bat.

While I’m an enthusiastic, faithful Sox fan who understands and recognizes that Manny let the team down, frequently bird-dogged his play, allegedly shoved a 60-year-old staffer, yadda, yadda, yadda . . . seriously, do Sox fans really need to act as though Manny shot someone, or released millions of gallons of oil into the Gulf of Mexico? Boo once if you want to, but completely lose your mind in front of your kids, not cool.

Anyway, the "traitor" shouts weren't the reason for the “mixed” part of the Father's Day weekend equation. There was the fact that my mother -- who, along with my father and their dog Kelly (a doggie playdate for our pup Max), watched the kids while we were at the Sox game – injured her foot jumping on the trampoline with The Eldest Boy. My dad’s gout flared up and, by the time they left, they were hobbling out of my house.

Oh, and about that house, it feels like lots of things are falling apart these days. When we moved into the house five years ago, we had to buy a bunch of new appliances because the previous owners took many with them when they moved. Now, the five-year-old clothes washer is dying (currently not working at all) and because it’s part of a stacked washer/dryer unit we’ve been told we’ll have to buy a whole new stacked unit. The washer repair guy who gave me the bad news about 10 days ago further panicked me by saying that the dryer vent didn’t fit properly into the ductwork in the wall and that heated damp air was being pumped into said wall (stuff that could cause mold) prompting me to summon a dryer vent repair guy, who, days later, had to replace a whole bunch of dryer ducts but said he did not find any mold.

When I came home the other day, the door on our five-year-old dishwasher was wide open. It wouldn’t close, so I had to shove a kitchen chair up against it because Max the dog kept climbing inside. The dishwasher repair guy said if he can’t get new hinges which fit it, we'll need a new dishwasher.

Additionally, when I took the Picket Fence Post kids out shopping for Father’s Day gifts last week, I returned to my vehicle and found the front windshield badly cracked.

That clothes washer, whose immediate problem had been repaired even though it’s been given a death sentence by the repair guy who said it’d last only a few months more, died again on Saturday after running non-stop all day on the same damned cycle leaving the smell of burnt Band Aids lingering in the kitchen.

But at least we had a nice Father's Day barbecue on Sunday afternoon – the grill didn’t explode or anything and the refrigerator didn’t suddenly stop refrigerating – and The Spouse got to go to the driving range with the boys and watch the U.S. Open., so it wasn’t a total loss.

Meanwhile, I’m still waiting on word from the clothes washer repairman whose repairs didn’t take, and from the dishwasher guy. And I’ve gotta return the #1 Dad Red Sox shirt The Youngest Boy picked out for The Spouse because it’s too small. Fun and costly times in Picket Fence Post land.