Our Kuerig is broken.
We sit and stare at it, but it is still not brewing. We coax it, pet it, hit it upside the head, threaten it, plug and unplug it for a solid 5 minutes.
Still broke.
There is no money left in the February Household category to buy a new one. Beau-Hunkly and I start brainstorming.
We arrive at a very mature decision. We will borrow from the grocery money and eat ramen noodles all week. That's mature, right?
I am grabbing the 20% off coupon for Bed Bath and Beyond and halfway out the door when Son One stops me.
"If there is no money left in the Household category, how exactly are you planning on paying for this," he asks.
With my coupon?
"Come sit down and let's try to fix it," he says as he pulls me into the kitchen.
I don't want to fix it. It's too much work. It's too hard. It's going to frustrate me.
He grabs his iPad.
"We'll look up YouTube videos," he says. "No way can we be the first Kuerig to break."
45 minutes later, the Kuerig is in pieces and the entire kitchen reeks of vinager. I have coffee sludge under my fingernails.
"I would already be back enjoying a cup of hot coffee if you would have just let me," I tell him. I am sulking.
"Paying for it how?" he asks.
With the help of instructional YouTube videos, in another 5 minutes the Kuerig is reassembled.
"I am burping it." He says.
I see. He is burping it.
And then he plugs it back in. And it starts brewing. And it is fixed.
My two cents: take some time this week to repair instead of replace: darn a sock, grease a can opener, sharpen a blade. Too easily, we throw out and buy new when all we really need to do is Burp the Kuerig.
I am grabbing the 20% off coupon for Bed Bath and Beyond and halfway out the door when Son One stops me.
"If there is no money left in the Household category, how exactly are you planning on paying for this," he asks.
With my coupon?
"Come sit down and let's try to fix it," he says as he pulls me into the kitchen.
I don't want to fix it. It's too much work. It's too hard. It's going to frustrate me.
He grabs his iPad.
"We'll look up YouTube videos," he says. "No way can we be the first Kuerig to break."
45 minutes later, the Kuerig is in pieces and the entire kitchen reeks of vinager. I have coffee sludge under my fingernails.
"I would already be back enjoying a cup of hot coffee if you would have just let me," I tell him. I am sulking.
"Paying for it how?" he asks.
With the help of instructional YouTube videos, in another 5 minutes the Kuerig is reassembled.
Suddenly, Son One has our coffee maker raised above his head, and then nestled in his arms like a baby, but upside down. And then he starts firmly patting the bottom of our Kuerig on it's base.
"I am burping it." He says.
I see. He is burping it.
And then he plugs it back in. And it starts brewing. And it is fixed.
My two cents: take some time this week to repair instead of replace: darn a sock, grease a can opener, sharpen a blade. Too easily, we throw out and buy new when all we really need to do is Burp the Kuerig.
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