So...the very (Very) first day of the year brought some extra water to my house.
I'm always praying for more of something...but it usually isn't water.
Taking my daily pilgrimage to the basement with a basketful of laundry I tried to carefully navigate the stairs.
I know there are 11 steps.
I know this because I counted them when we first moved in.
I remember telling someone "hey, this house has eleven steps to the basement just like our other house did"..
(DUH...pretty much standard. Comforting, nonetheless. )
So I count the stairs as I go down.
Usually by the time I get to stair number 4 or 7, I've lost count.
Some random thought has pushed the order right from my head.
Is that a spider, it had better not be a spider, I'm gonna scream if that black hairy spot moves. How is this banister loose? Who in the hell put that nick in the wall? Why is there always so much freakin laundry, Why is it always me that has to do this laundry? Well, I'm the lowly woman, I guess. And we all know that lowly woman translates to slave. What day is it...? Isn't there something due today? Did I forget to pay something? Man the dog stinks, I can smell her from here. Okay, maybe it's not the dog, it's the laundry. Good Lord this basket is heavy, my bladder feels like it's gonna fall out. Oh dear, now it feels like its gonna leak. Thank goodness I've got a Depend diaper on. Oh no, I don't...no wait, don't dribble, I'm almost to the bottom step...
Yes, step number 5. Or is it number 9....
So I misjudge the last step or two.
I'm usually lucky though, the pile of laundry breaks my fall.
This day, the VERY first day of the year 2011, the basement carpeting looks dark, very dark, unusually dark...
FU*&...the carpet looks wet.
And by George, it is.
Dammititalltohell....the basement has flooded.
Well it had been raining for at least a day, and the ground here in good ol Michigan is a frigid evil bitch at the moment and not open to anything slipping down into her.
The water has to go some place.
I surveyed the damage to our basement and then am forced to take the LOOOOOOOOOONG walk upstairs to inform my husband.
Step by step my anxiety grows.
Twenty two (he's on the second floor of our mansion) purely agonizing steps in soggy socks....
When I finally get to him I'm tempted to throw myself to the floor in a dramatic over-dramatized and drama filled vignette,
"ARRGHHHHH honey, sweetheart, loveofmylife, the worst, the absolute worst possible thing has happened this morning" I would sob.
"Wadda ya want?" he would say, all concerned "can't you see I'm tuning my guitar".
So a miracle happened at my house on this day, this VERY first day of January 2011.
We had a basement flood and Daddio didn't pop a nut.
No, he was strangely calm and in total control as he spent most of his day on his knees sucking water into the stinky shop-vac. The poor thing had only a hose, no attachments (when I attempted to question his logic in using only the hose, I learned that the attachments had been stolen by the same sticky fingered thief that steals all of his good tools...Why??? the kids would want to lift the attachment tools to the stinky shop vac will have to remain a mystery. I didn't dare go into detective mode...timing is everything, you know).
In spite of the events of this very FIRST day of January we went to bed laughing.
We were happily sawing logs until our slumber was interrupted by Googie bursting into our room yelling that Bear's car alarm was blaring, beeping, blasting and couldn't be silenced.
"Why in the hell are you in here?" Daddio asked, gently (tee-hee) "GO GET YOUR BROTHER, IT'S HIS CAR".
With all this commotion going on we were all forced to be wide eyed awake and so were the neighbors...all except the neighbor girl that plowed into the back of Bear's parked car and set his alarm a singin at 4:45am January 2.
I think that bimbo was sleeping.
Or gabbing on her phone.
Or a bit tipsy.
Or half blind.
Day two of 2011.