Waking up this Sunday morning, I wasn’t surprised that it was raining. It has rained for forty days and forty nights. Okay, exaggeration, but close. Our street can resemble lakefront property when the amount is large, which this morning, it has been reported that over 5 inches fell in under 2 hours. So, putting that all into context, here is my humorous account of those two glorious hours.
Showered and ready for church, I realized quickly that we were not going anywhere. God has a plan and apparently church wasn’t in that plan for today. Okay, moving forward. Water seeping in the basement. No problem. Just in the storage room, so I get ready to use the wet-dry vacuum on it, when I realize one of the window wells is leaking. Crap! Knowing I can’t do two things at once, I wake the teenage boy. Bryce is fantastic as he doesn’t wake up grumpy and is really competent in high stress situations. We begin to wage our war on the water. I go outside to find our window well pump only to be greeted by our garage from hell. This place looks like a bomb exploded only it didn’t, it is merely 20 years of shit stored for no good reason. Expletives are being thrown while I try to maintain some maturity as I call my husband (who is at work) to find out where said pump is. His comment, “To the right when you open the garage.” Really, because all I saw was a bunch of crap piled around, but amazingly enough to the right and under the crap was where the pump was residing. I hooked it up and it starting doing its job with great efficiency. Exhaling, I felt accomplished and was ready to have my cup of coffee. That is until I saw the impending disaster creeping down the driveway. Yes! Fantastic! Water approaching the side door because after all I have always dreamed of having a waterfall in the basement. I alert Bryce who is fighting the uphill battle of the water seeping in the storage room. Then….wait there’s more……water coming in another window well. I run out and switch the pump to the other well. Keep in mind I have had three outfit changes. Nothing like you would see at a Madonna concert, but you get the gist.
In the meantime, the Basset hound has relieved herself, in both capacities, in the bedroom. Let’s face it, she is pretty smart to know that the backyard is a lake, plus, she won’t potty in the rain. Then Bailey wakes up to inquire if breakfast can still be eaten. (Major eye roll) We pause to listen to the soothing sounds of rushing water plummeting down the basement steps. The true art of powerlessness is when you completely surrender and go outside to talk to your neighbors while watching stupid people try to drive down the street.
Then, a miracle happened and the rain stopped. Oh, and my phone works. (It got a little wet when I needed a flashlight to find the pump that was suppose to be easy to find. By the way, rice does work to help dry it.) So, we resumed clean up. Grateful that nothing was lost, I didn’t kill anyone, Bailey was able to eat breakfast, and that I have a fifteen year old that will help his mommy when she is drowning (literally and figuratively). All is well. Now, if I can only figure out a way to send this rain to some drought regions.
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