This week James and I discovered the chink in our "flood-proof basement" armor. Sunday's rains left a mote outside our house, and that seeped in inside through the brick walls and became a wading pool in our basement.
Yesterday Mom lent us a shop vac that has a place where you can put a hose. The hose takes the swamp water and channels it into your sink. But nobody knows how to make that feature work. So last night I found myself toe-deep in cold water, bailing out the 16-gallon vacuum chamber with a coffee pot, so I could start again and vacuum 16 more gallons of flood water into the chamber, and then bail those out.
While I was bailing, James came down to see what he could do to help. As we stood in the water, the top of the vacuum fell from its perch on top of the dryer, upside down, into the flood water. When it landed on its top, it turned itself on, and started vacuuming up water and spraying it at me. James was frozen with a worried look on his face. I was frozen and I think my face looked a little more annoyed. I was pretty sure I was starring in a sit-com.
By the end of the episode, we were wet and dirty, with pulled muscles and a relatively dry floor. I said to James, "What a mess!"
He said, "Yes, but it's OUR mess."
And he was right. This weekend was the one-year anniversary of our becoming homeowners, and this was the biggest challenge we'd had so far.
I think we've crossed a threshhold.
I think we're ready for diapers.