The Fourth of July weekend is over, and after the long weekend, I feel like my work week has a bit of a hangover. On Tuesday, I could have sworn it was Thursday, which does not bode well for the rest of the week.

I took a mini vacation of sorts over the weekend. My idea was to turn off the news and take a break from the negativity and stress inducing information. I needed a mental break.

So, every time I walked into the living room, I turned the tv off. Which was super annoying to the Hubs since he loves the news – he would have it on 24 hours a day if he could. Every time he protested about turning off the tv, I asked him to do a chore or task and he sort of fled the scene after a while.

Of course, whenever I take any sort of “vacation,” the universe reaches into its bag of frustrations and starts tossing random things at me. This time it attacked my place of refuge. The bathtub. I love nothing more than a bubble bath. Let me have a good book, a cool drink and I can stay in there for hours. Not sure why this is my thing, but there it is.

I was relaxed, had just finished my book, and was getting out of the tub, when there was this tremendous SNAP! I froze thinking something under the house had broken and I was about to land in the crawlspace. Gingerly, I place my hand on the side of the tub to balance myself as I stood and, in the process managed to get pinched by the tub. It hurt like a phrase which is unusable in a family publication.

I was absolutely astonished to see a crack in the side of the bathtub. A lot of things ran through my mind starting with “what the *@!!,” then “are you “bleep” kidding me?” and then “noooooooooo!” Seriously, who ever heard of a bathtub breaking? This was worse than the year the refrigerator, dishwasher, washing machine and carpet shampooer all died in the same week.

We grew up poor, so those items except for the refrigerator were luxury items, so I could make do without them. But my bathtub? Seriously? I wondered for a few minutes what the heck I had done to make the universe so petty. This was not going to be an easy replacement or fix. Needless to say; I was no longer relaxed.

Phone calls were made regarding replacement, of course it was a weird size that would require 1 remodeling the whole bathroom or 2. making a trip to a specialty distributor, ordering, and waiting for delivery. Of course. The Hubs patched it with some sort of fiberglass repair goop, so for now it is holding as we await the delivery of the new tub. Sigh

Needless to say, I was feeling pretty mopey about the whole situation. So, I escaped into the kitchen to bake. I needed to do something soothing and controlled so I pulled up a new recipe for apple dumplings which mom had shared with me.

I had the topping blended and was working on the filling when the Hubs came by and noticed a measuring cup filled with … diet Mt. Dew, which was part of the recipe. He quizzed me about what I was making and wrinkled his nose in distaste. He does that a lot. He is a picky eater, which can be frustrating, since that is not the way we grew up.

We ate whatever was plunked down on the table in front of us and said thank you afterwards, because there was not much in the house to snack on between meals. I might have growled at him a bit and continued with peeling apples. A few minutes later the dish of dumplings was slid into the oven to bake for a half hour.

About 25 minutes later, something interesting occurred. The Hubs came back into the house, and he stopped, sniffed appreciatively, and asked what I was baking. A bit exasperated with this question, I told him those were apple dumplings he was smelling. He sort of said “hmph” and went back outside. Another 15 minutes passes, and he returns to examine the baking disk which is now cooling on the counter.

Pretty little bundles of dough with apples tucked in, are topped with a cinnamon sugar streusel and surrounded by a sweet sauce. A few moments later, I realize he has helped himself to a dumpling. This is pretty unusual since he tends to ignore most items I make. They are just “okay” or “not like moms’ .” For him to help himself, well it was odd.

He stood sort of out of view as he polished off the sweet treat. When he announced they were “pretty good” and to not wash his plate because he would be back, I about fell over. It was like a holiday miracle. My own “Mikey” (from the old Life cereal commercials) liked something.

Plus, he was going to have second servings. I called mom to tell her that he liked the dish and she laughed with me over the astounding news.

It really made my day. Was it enough to make up for the bathtub? Heck no. Not even close, but it was absolutely a great way to make the day a tiny bit better.

Written and submitted by Sarah Roush for The Circleville Herald. The views of this column may not necessarily reflect that of the newspaper.

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