Our oven, which is built into a wall in our kitchen, stopped working a few weeks ago; it would run and run and never get hot.

I called a GE repair person, who came today. It’s fixable, but it will require two people, because they have to take the oven – which is 10 years old – out of the wall. With parts and labor, it’ll cost $700.

A new oven is $1400. We’ve already replaced the control panel for this particular model, so if we spend the money on fixing it, we’re nearly at the cost of a new oven.

I asked him straight out what his opinion was. If we fix this part, would the oven continue to work just fine, did he think?

He stopped and considered. Well, maybe. But this oven is 10 years old, which is the standard life on appliances nowadays.

I don’t want to buy a new oven.

I want this one to work.


A few weeks ago, I noticed that my favorite long sleeved pullover is looking a little stretched. The fabric is thin on the elbows, and the shirt is stretchy in odd ways. No holes yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

I’m wearing it anyway, because usually I just layer it over a t shirt and under my zipped hooded sweatshirt.  Plus, it’s my daily uniform.

And yes, I’ve been looking for new shirts to replace this one, but this one is so perfect – fitted, but not too tight, and not too loose. I can’t seem to find anything will work in its place.

I don’t want a new shirt.

I want this one to stay as comfortable as it’s been.


Owen has been getting up for the past few weeks, getting dressed, going downstairs, making himself breakfast on his own, and then cleaning up after himself. This is mostly because he knows he’s allowed his iPad/computer time before bus only if he’s taken care of business first. But also, well, he’ll be 9 next month (next MONTH!), so I feel like a little responsibility is a good thing.

It’s actually quite nice; I’m able to get my bike workout in some mornings and not have to worry that he won’t be ready for school. But, too, it’s bittersweet, because wasn’t it just yesterday that he was my baby and I had to allow him to wake him up slowly, by taking him out of his crib and rocking with him and Bear in the glider in his room?

As he grows, it gets harder and harder to mother him. That’s how it works: your child is always leaving you, every moment of every day, growing into their own person with their own lives and hopes and dreams. It’s right that it happens that way.

I will not be that mom that won’t let her son grow up.

I just wish it wasn’t so hard to let go.

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