reparare aut reponere: annus domesticus maximus (repair or replace: the year of the great household chaos)
it began with a door….
Some years start with promise. Mine started with an office door that met its dramatic end in a scene straight out of Looney Tunes.
Let’s set the stage: I have a rambuncous 10 year old running up and down the hall with an equally rambuncous 1-year old mini golden doodle. I barely got the words out “be careful”, when I heard a comic zoom, crash, crunch from down the hall reminiscent of Wile E. Coyote chasing the Road Runner, The office door at the end of the hall didn’t stand a chance against the physics of cartoon-level velocity. One second it was upright and respectable, and the next it looked like it had been punched through by an ACME-branded disaster.
At the time I yelled, “Is everyone ok?” and once I confirmed they were, I surveyed the damage. A cracked frame and plaster popped off the wall from the force. At the time, I thought, “Well… that was unfortunate.”
Little did I know it was just the opening gag in my year-long slapstick comedy of homeownership.
act i: the early signs (aka the warm-up tragedies)
A few weeks after the door incident, our solar panel inverter quietly bowed out. No warning. No goodbye letter. One day it simply decided it was emotionally unavailable for converting sunlight into savings. Luckily it was still under warranty, so a few hundred dollars, instead of many thousands of dollars to fix. However the company supplying the replacement took weeks to get it to us after misdelivering our first replacement to New Jersey and me finally getting the president of the installer involved.
Next up: the bathroom door threshold, a tiny but mighty strip of wood that apparently felt the need to assert how essential it was by disintegrating due to the level of water regularly pressed up against it.
Then came the bathroom barn door, which the slow close mechanism broke…thrice.
At this point, I began to feel like the house was sending me cryptic messages.
Like: Reparare aut reponere, Lisa.
(That’s Latin for “repair or replace,” because if things are going to fall apart dramatically, we might as well class it up.)
act ii: appliance unraveling, or the great household exodus
By mid-year, my home’s appliances had clearly convened a private meeting and voted to retire early.
It began with the washing machine, which spun itself into an existential crisis and never recovered.
Then the air conditioner stopped cooling in the middle of a heatwave, because of course it did.
The stove decided that heating food was optional and ceased participating
Even the Govee curtain lights—a purely decorative item—lost the will to glow. When your twinkle lights give up, it’s personal.
And then there was the water heater (15 days past warranty)., which failed in a dramatic finale that made me rethink every warm shower I had ever taken for granted.
This was no longer a coincidence. This was a conspiracy.
act iii: the 24-hour triple hit (yes, all within one day)
Just when I thought the universe had finished writing my comedy special, it delivered a spectacular plot twist.
Within 24 hours:
The Audi tire went flat.
The garbage disposal flooded the kitchen.
The Honda tire went flat.
Three different systems. Zero connection. Maximum disrespect.
At this point, I I just laughed, stared into the middle distance, and whispered,
“Of course.”
act iv: the epilogue — because even small appliances have drama
By winter, I thought we had survived the worst.
I cursed myself by saying “we don’t need the stove, since we have our big toaster oven.” Welp, she died the next day - no I’m not kidding.
When I really thought I’d had enough, my hair dryer—my simple, dependable morning companion—looked around at their fallen comrades and said:
“Nope. We’re out too.”
And honestly? I respected the commitment to the theme.
I’ll admit, I didn’t handle this one well. Enough was enough and that dryer took a long flying trip across kitchen towards the trash.
what this year really taught me
Between the repairs, the replacements, the appointments, the warranties, and the emotional processing required after the water heater incident, I realized something:
Homes are not static.
They’re living ecosystems of tiny revolts, surprise expenses, and unplanned lessons in patience.
And somehow—between the chaos—you adapt.
You laugh.
You Google “How to replace a washing machine board?”
You develop a rapport with your handyman that rivals most friendships.
You learn to let go of perfection and hold onto perspective.
And you thank yourself for putting money away for these expected life events.
And you find humor in the absurdity of adulthood… even when the hair dryer taps out.
