Ugh. Goodbye, July, don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out.
First, there was Lyme disease. Times two. Then Little Man's finger. Then last week I turned 39 years old, a fact that is messing with my head and has triggered some sort of mid-life crisis and made me want to hook up with old boyfriends found on Facebook and get a tattoo and go carousing in bars til all odd hours of the morning (only one of which actually has a chance of happening - I do my carousing at home, thankyouverymuch, and I love my husband to the ends of the earth. Not to mention that I had the smoking hot bod back when the ex boyfriends weren't exes yet and all I have to offer now is a gravity ridden, squishy, 4 c-section defaced mess and the exes are still ohsohot. So whadda you think I should get for my tattoo?). I was just looking to get out of July with some part of my life intact.
It was not to be.
Monday morning I had my six-month appointment with the dermatologist to quash any mutinous moles before they toss the captain overboard. He took off two and froze some nasty thing on my face (making it look an order of magnitude more nasty, but he assures me won't leave a scar), and apparently while he was doing this my husband left a message on my phone telling me his car broke down and he might need me to come get him. Since my dermatologist's office is closer to my husband than my home is, I frantically tried to get it touch with him while I started to drive in his direction. I got as far as Rockville before he finally reached me. He'd gotten a local tow, and they were looking at the car, but he knew what was wrong with it: he blew the engine.
He. Blew. The. Engine. My husband. Former gearhead. Threw a rod. Through the engine block. A hole. In the block.
He was actually on northbound 95 when it started to let go, but was able to make it off onto a side street before it finally quit running, near where he works - nearly BWI airport. We debated the merits of having the shop fix it or having it towed to our mechanic who has been servicing our cars for almost two decades now, and decided we'd rather have it with our trusted mechanic, but not before the shop there started checking into repair options. The estimate they gave? Seven. Thousand. Dollars.
I nearly wrecked my own car, and then I went to pick him up. Uncle Dave watched the kids for many many hours straight, enough hours that we have to pay him overtime. Our mechanic called us with the problems with our car.
- The engine block has a hole in it, so we can't rebuild the existing engine.
- Jasper only has rebuilds in stock for automatics. Our Subaru is a stickshift (yes, I'm a girl, yes I can drive a stick quite well, and yes, stick shifts are better than automatics. I'd have a stick minivan if I could).
- Jasper would be happy to build us an engine, and it will only take a mere 4-6 weeks. Weeks. Not days. Weeks.
- We could go with a junkyard engine. These are rare to begin with, and as our mechanic says, "One man's trash is another man's problem." We don't want to inherit a problem. Other than the family history of skin cancer I already have. Wait, not that kind of inheritance. Never mind.
- We buy parts from Subaru.
We are looking at $6K. Six. Thousand. Dollars. And that doesn't include the LWOP, extra babysitting, and alcoholic stress relief. Oh, and the rental car he's using in the mean time, because I am not hauling five kids over to the airport an hour and a half each way twice a day to drive him to and from work (oh, yeah, I have an extra kid this week. My cousin's son, who is a wonderful boy and who teaches my kids how to behave which is a good thing as my kids are animals but sheesh, it's rough timing). Our mechanic asked us how the hell this happened, as my husband is usually a stickler for such things as routine maintenance. He put something like 150K miles on a Ford truck engine, and we thought for sure he'd take the Subaru over 200K.
The answer is a cautionary tale. The little oil pressure idiot light came on weeks ago, and he ignored it. He figured it was like a Ford truck, and it wouldn't run if there was no oil in it. He was too stressed out and tired from the long commute and lack of sleep and job stress and kid stress to pay attention and actually take the car for its regular oil changes. I had cautioned him against this, saying that if he thought he didn't have time then it would come back to bite him in the ass when it was the most inconvenient. I hate it when I'm right sometimes.
Here's hoping August is more kind. Anyone have any freelance work for a contrite computer programmer or a ticked off but smoking good technical writer? Will work for Subaru engine parts or cash.