Family Life

It’s spring, and the damp has brought it’s seasonal troubles to the car’s electrical systems. A front-end collision many years ago (before our time) resulted in damage to the engine computer wiring harness. Several repair attempts left a hodgepodge of mismatched splices wrapped in miles of sticky, gummy, melted electrical tape. It’s a mess. The car is OK in the summer when it’s hot enough to bake out any moisture that gets into the splices, and it’s OK in the winter when there’s no moisture in the air anyway. Spring and autumn are a problem though. Lots of rain, damp, too cold to evaporate the drips, too warm to freeze them.

A while ago the engine started cutting out momentarily at unexpected times. We lived with it for a week or so it because it always started right up again by itself after a second or two. Until one day it refused to start at all. I sat in the car on a wet, windy afternoon at the parking lot at work, cranking the engine again and again, with no success. Sigh. Gotta face the music sooner or later.

I pushed the car into the warehouse and left it there overnight, hoping the dry warmth would get the water out of the wires. I tried to start it again in the morning, with no success. Sigh once again.

So I spent the weekend with the car up on blocks, testing the seventy-odd cables to the computer one by one. It turned out to be the main power feed to the computer directly from the battery. Well, no wonder it didn’t start. OK. We have progress. So how to fix it?

I went looking for another wire in the same circuit, trying my hardest not to take anything apart if I could help it. On a vehicle of this vintage many of the bolts are rusted solid. You don’t unbolt things–you snap them off, never to be the same again.

In the end the easiest (least risky) connection was under the main fuse panel on the other side of the car. There were a few tense moments undoing the brackets on the panel, but it came away mostly unscathed. The wires under the panel had been repaired and spliced before, and there was about 5mm of slack in the cabling. I could lift the edge of the panel just enough to shine a light in. Really big sigh. It just doesn’t get any easier, does it?

Judicious use of the wire cutters gave me enough space to lift the fuse panel out of the way. I wanted to repair those inferior splices anyway, or so I told myself. So I spent an hour repairing the repairs. No wonder the car had problems.

I ran a whole new wire from the computer all the way across to the fuse panel rather than trying to fix the old wire. It was easier and quicker that way, with a more reliable result. The car started up beautifully and has been fine ever since.

Until a week later.

Now the engine ran fine. It’s just that from time to time it wouldn’t start. This was different from before. Before, the engine would turn over, chugging away for as long as you held the key, but wouldn’t ignite and run. Now the engine wouldn’t even turn over. Turn the key and nothing. Not even a click. Lights on the dashboard, sure, but no starter. Stranded once again.

After another weekend of troubleshooting I narrowed it down to the Park-Neutral safety switch. This is a sensor that prevents the driver from starting the engine unless the engine is in Park or Neutral. In my previous car this was a switch built into the gear selector lever–fairly easy to get to. In my current car it’s a magnetic sensor bolted into the transmission housing–very difficult to repair unless you take the transmission off. This was not a job for an amateur. But I had to get the car running and spend as little as possible in the process. These are hard times.

So I put in a bypass switch. I ran some wires from the engine into the dashboard, with a toggle switch to close the circuit the faulty sensor was failing to engage. And it worked. Occasionally the car would fail to start and I’d reach over and flick the switch and everything would be alright. After a few weeks the sensor failed for all time. So now the car has a new custom-built security feature: it won’t start unless you know about the secret switch.

One day I’ll phone the dealer and order a replacement sensor. One day. These are hard times. On the other hand, it seems like the manufacturer may go out of business any day now. These are hard times indeed. Maybe I’d better get that sensor while I still can.

What’s that you say? Time to buy a new car? Yes, indeed! But these are hard times. Haven’t you been listening? So we make do with what we have, and are grateful.

Daniel came running into the room this morning complaining bitterly about Joel hitting him with this pitchfork-shaped toy. Stabbing him in the back, so to speak. Debbie calmed him down and explained that yelling and screaming was no way to sort things out, that he should use words, that he should say to Joel, “Please don’t hit me with that Joel. I don’t like it when you do that. It makes me angry and upset. Please stop.” Debbie is trying to teach the boys conflict resolution, trying to help them resolve their own differences without running to Mummy for every real or imagined transgression.

Daniel replied, “But that’s too long! If I have to say all that, by then he’s already hit me!”

Hard to know what to say to that one. The boy has a point.

Micah is taking potty training way too seriously. For the last couple of weeks he has been waking at night every hour and a half or so, calling out “Mum come!” quite loudly. Debbie groans, drags herself out of bed, picks up the toddler, takes off his diaper and sits him on the toilet. Where he promptly pees at length. Then she dresses him, tucks him into bed and flops back into her own bed with another groan, and tries to go back to sleep. This goes on all night long, every single night.

Besides the obvious question, Why Do We Have To Put Up With This, the situation has generated some intriguing scientific debate. For starters: Where on earth does he get all that liquid? Does he sneak a bottle into bed? Is there a secret stash in his crib? We’ve instituted strict drink rationing from dinnertime onwards, so we know what his intake is (rather, we think we know). And why does he save all his bathroom visits for bedtime? He doesn’t seem to need to go that often during the day.

The end result is a dry diaper in the morning plus exhausted parents. In the antithesis of potty training, we’re trying to convince Micah to not worry about using the toilet and just pee in his diaper. It’s OK, we don’t mind, honest! But no. He’s doggedly conscientious. “Mum come!”

Occasionally he’ll be so restless that Debbie will bring him into our bed, so that he doesn’t wake his two brothers. If one child awake in the middle of the night is bad, three grumpy, fussy boys are immensely worse. Hey, everybody’s awake! We might as well get everyone up and dressed and ready to start the day! At 4am.

Last night had an added twist in that I’d given the boys Glow Sticks at bedtime–small plastic luminescent rods. Micah had a death grip on his “Wo Dik”, and after bringing him into our bed Debbie spent the rest of the night with this really bright orange light constantly in her face. Micah’s idea of a good night’s sleep is to cuddle up to Mum as close as he possibly can, arms draped over her. Usually he crowds her right off the edge of the bed. The Glow Stick was the crowning indignation to a night (nay, week!) of frustrations.

Pray for us.

Daniel’s Aunty Raich sent him a wooden model plane for his birthday. There’s the picture from the box on the right. He was pretty excited about it. This ranked as a Pretty Cool Gift in his opinion, and he wanted to build it straight away. His younger brothers didn’t want to miss out on the fun either, so there were three small boys eager to get started.

I looked at the front of the box. I looked at the back of the box. I didn’t need to open it to know what was ahead: fiddly little pieces of wood, put together with glue. This wasn’t Lego. And that was just the mechanical challenge. I’d also be contending with three excited boys stumbling over each other, crowding me, wanting to be in on the action, to be involved, to do it all.

“Can I hold the glue Daddy?”
“Let me squeeze the tube!”
“I’ll hold that part Daniel.”
“No! It’s mine! Give it to me!”
“Mah [Micah] do it!”

Oh, I was looking forward to this, all right.

Daniel had received other gifts he really liked (Lego), so I managed to put him off for a couple of weeks. One Saturday, after daily pestering, I finally gave in and announced that we were going to build the model plane. Boy! You would have thought Christmas had come again, to hear the exuberant rejoicing! The boys were jumping up and down, laughing, cheering, yelling, crowding around me as I picked up the box. Just what I needed, as I prepared to start something that required quiet, careful concentration. I had to remind myself that whatever it looked like from my point of view, from the boys’ perspective this was going to be fun.

I put a cardboard tray on the dining table to contain all the pieces, and pulled three chairs together as close as I could. Daniel and Joel knelt on either side, leaning toward the tray, and I sat between them with Micah on my lap. When he’s engaged and interested in what’s happening, Micah is well-behaved and sits still and follows instructions. This arrangement was the best I could make of the situation, and actually turned out surprisingly well.

We took sheets of plywood out of the box and carefully punched out the pre-cut pieces. I arranged them loose on the tray in the same layout as the sheets, and told the boys we didn’t want to get the pieces jumbled up. Joel likes things to be in order so he immediately settled down. And Daniel? Well, I guess one bouncy child is easier to deal with than three.

The box had a postage-stamp sized piece of sandpaper which we used to smooth down the rough edges of the pieces we’d just liberated. Four heads clustered tightly around small pieces of wood.

Then the glue. By now I realized this was not going to be finished in one sitting, and started to prepare the boys’ expectations accordingly. This is what we can glue now, boys, and then we have to leave it to dry before we can glue more parts on. In fact, we’ll have to leave it overnight. This turned out to suit the boys’ limited attention span. Things were working out quite well. How surprising.

Day 1, Saturday. We glued the engine to the main spar (the spine), and glued the bulkheads (ribs) to the spar. Oh, and also the propeller hub but not the blades (much to the boys’ disappointment). And that was it for the first day.

Day 2, Sunday. We glued on the fuselage skin. This involved bending flat, straight pieces of wood to fit a round, tapered frame. Unfortunately, the wood did not like to bend. It much preferred to splinter and snap. This was not going to be easy. I sent Joel off to get some rubber bands–big, thick ones–which kicked the boys’ interest up a notch. They love rubber bands. After experimenting a bit with a couple of dry runs I realized I’d just have to jump in and wing it. Lots of glue, rubber bands wound around a dozen times, and Voil

I found out today that my web service provider had secretly added a “service” to track all my web pages, all my visitors. They did this by tacking on some code at the end of every page. At first I thought someone had hacked into this blog, because the addition completely killed the WordPress admin pages used to manage the blog. Things were a bit tense for a while because I couldn’t get in to examine things behind the scenes, couldn’t log in to fix it.

So I turned to the NoScript browser plugin to discover where the offending code was coming from, and to block it. Now I could log in to the blog admin pages. After some searching I found … nothing. Everything was as it should be. How strange. I remembered that Google is your friend for all things technical, and did a quick search to find other irate customers with the same problem, and hence to a solution. So it’s all fixed. For now.

The more general issue is that my service provider should never have done something like that in the first place, especially without telling anyone. On the other hand, it’s a free service, and I guess you get what you pay for. I often get the urge to move to a more reliable, more reputable provider. But that would cost me money, of which I have none in these hard times.

Photo note: Macabre sculpture outside the prison tower at Prague Castle, Czech republic.