The minute our children set foot into our house after daycare, they're begging for dinner. Tuesday night was no exception.
I set the little ones at the table and went to get them some milk while I quickly pulled something together. I reached in the fridge, pulled out a jug...and poured out a glass of room-temperature milk. The cheese for the quesadillas? Room temperature as well. The meat to defrost? Leaking juice all over the bottom of the shelf.
Sure enough. My poor fridge had died at the tender age of four.
Now, I realize some people are content to make the move to living without a refrigerator or a deep freezer, and I totally respect that. These are people who have the talent and confidence to can or can figure out a awy to live in a land that doesn't have leftovers. But as a working mom of two kids under the age of four, it's just not in our cards right now. After all, we buy three different types of milk (whole/2%/skim). We store two types of insulin. We make enough dinner to have leftovers for a lunch at work. And frankly, all the great stuff I buy from the farmers market shouldn't be wilting quickly, as it would in my home on an 80-degree day.
Several frantic calls later, I find out that I can't find the coils on the fridge but we do have a warranty. And a repairman could come out two days later.
Again, not my ideal situation. I spent three hours Tuesday night scrambling to save what I could. Baking bread. Cutting and freezing strawberries and peas. Making a loaf of bread's worth of French toast to freeze, ready for a busy morning. Thankfully, I had space in my freezer, and the Styrafoam container that I rolled my eyes about when my insulin was shipped was still waiting in my garage. And the ice packs were still frozen so I could keep my meds cold.
Yes, we lost some things, but I'm surprised at how little.
And today, I got the best call ever: The blower was fixed, and we'd be back to cold milk in a day or so.
I am so glad to be back to 20th Century living!