Morning..not great, but we survived. It was our first full day back doing school after our break, and there was lots of moaning and complaining and whining and whining and whining...but we made it through.
Then my husband came in and said our backhoe had a flat...oh yes, and it won't start...
so he moved on to the tractor...
by the way, that won't start either...super.
So, he gets the giant farm truck and promptly runs over our well pump...which means we have no water in our house.
On the way to town to get something-or-other to fix our well pump so we can shower our stinky pits...his truck croaks!
So, let's review:
Backhoe, dead and flat.
Well pump, smooshed.
I tried not to freak out too much. My husband calls me a pessimist...I call myself a realist. He might be right. However, I can neither confirm nor deny this point in writing, I could lose leverage during arguments.
So...luckily, I am married to a farmer. He's pretty handy. He fixed something minor on his truck. He then fixed the well pump. He continued his fixing by patching the backhoe tire and replacing the battery.
Now we are going to have to tackle the blue tractor, which may be more complicated...I could try to explain the problem, but my mechanical vocabulary consists of words like "thingy" and "doingle" and "sproingy"...Nigel says these are not machine-y words, but they really are the best I can do.
Anyway, we made it. Everything is fixed for now, except the sad little blue tractor.
Nigel ends days of my frantic, hysterical complaining with the same comment...every time...
"You and your first-world problems"
I hate it when he is right.