We've Had Better Traditions

I like traditions. Traditions are good. My favorite traditions revolve around holidays. Fireworks, sparkly lights, Friendsgiving, they all have a very special place in my heart.

And then there is the tradition that revolves around Mila's birth.

It's not my favorite.

Last year, just as Mila came into this world, our air conditioner decided to leave this world. It was a mere ten years old or so, but it was dead. So dead. Given the whole "brand new baby" thing, we had no choice but to pay for repairs.

$1000.

So, that was fun. It was especially fun because I was at the beginning of 9 weeks of unpaid maternity leave and had just incurred approximately a crapton of debt from the whole hospital stay thing.

Now that Mila's birthday is knocking on the front door (which, HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?), our friend the air conditioner has decided to be a jerk again. Well, sort of. Actually, what appears to have happened is that snake slithered into the air conditioner to get warm or cool or whatever and wound up dead. And crispy.

I'm really very sorry for that visual. You should probably be glad I didn't take any photos, mmkay?

Anyway, the snake was the jerk. It was punished mightily for its sins, but not before it did some sort of damage to the inside of the air conditioner. We *think* we know what parts we need to fix it and are going to attempt the repairs ourselves (C'mon Amazon! Hurry up with the shipping!), which means it might not quite reach the level of economic burden our previous fun with air conditioning repairs achieved.

But still.

We're on day two of our annual end-of-May without air conditioning. It's a lovely tradition we have going on, except not really. I think we're going to attempt to find a new way to celebrate Mila's birth. Maybe cake? Cake would be a good way to celebrate.

(If Mila finds it, she puts it around her neck. It doesn't matter what "it" is. It can even be her carrier.)

Comments

[Katie in MA]

My a/c likes to stop working, overflow, and then leak down through the attic floor and through the bathroom ceiling every year at Bee's birthday. Maybe it's a second child curse?

Hang in there, mama.