I think you know where I was.
It's a pretty good indicator you are not going to have a good day when your spouse wakes you up to help move furniture because water is spilling over from the crawl space and starting to puddle in the playroom. Honestly, I did check to make sure the sump pump was working before I went to bed the night before because I saw the ark float past my house just before sundown. Everything was in working order. However, sometime in the wee morning hours (when I was having the mother of all nightmares), the pump float got stuck and the pump stopped ejecting water outside the house.
Yep, we now had an indoor wading pool.
After quickly relocating items and placing furniture up on crates, my darling spouse slogged through several inches of water in our crawl space to inspect the pump and promptly got it working.
Less than half a cup of coffee later, there is a knock at the door. My neighbor came over to let me know the hose that attached to the drain for the sump pump had become detached and was now flooding the back of the house and he was worried it might spill into the basement. I thanked him and headed to the back yard dressed in sweats and tee shirt - there seemed no need to waste time putting on socks and shoes, after all, it was drizzling and the ground was soaked and I was mostly likely going to be standing in a puddle. Good call on my part!
I was not only standing in a puddle, but I wound up taking a shower as I reconnected the hose to the evacuation drain sticking out of the house. If you have ever tried to connect a hose while the water is running, you can pretty much guess just how cold and wet and miserable I was. Sorry, no photo, but no one would dare come near me with a camera! Having thus showered and exhausted my colorful vocabulary, I went into the house to my now cold coffee and decided to revive myself in a stream of hot water in an actual shower stall.
Unfortunately the water was lukewarm.
Evidently the water had gotten high enough to knock out the pilot light on the water heater. I can't remember if I actually used soap, but I hightailed it out of the shower and went downstairs to try and relight the pilot light. No dice. My charming and delightful spouse also had no luck. Yes, I woke him. No one should have this much fun alone. After still more cursing, we had no success.
My husband went to work.
I put on work clothes and got busy with clean up.
There was a fan going to dry out the crawl and I had begun the task of mopping when it was time to pick up my nephew from school. He readily agreed to help me put the room back to rights, but I decided to take a break. It was no longer raining so it seemed like a good time to get the mail. While I was heading to the mail box, a car pulled up and an elderly driver asked me for directions, which I cheerfully gave. With a thank you, he asked me if the house I was standing in front of was mine and when I told him it was, he complimented me on the flowers.
Then the conversation took an odd turn when he asked me if I hurt my leg (to those who don't know me, I wear a brace), to which I said no, my leg simply didn't work right. (It really was none of his business and I was politely brushing him off.)
His response:"I don't believe you."
WHAT THE F#@K?
Did this dude seriously just call me a liar?
After asking me for directions?
Some folks just know how to make your day!
"Tina, behave yourself this week."
Those were the last words spoken to me before I left church on Sunday. My husband thought it was pretty funny the deacon should say this to me. Maybe he was inspired by God. These words now were echoing in my head, swirling around images of this guy's body laying in the street.
It seemed like an hour before I was able to formulate a reply that didn't involve any expletives.
"I hope you have a nice day."
I managed to plant a smile, though an insincere one, on my disbelieving face when I spoke those words. I continued my journey to the mail box, while this guy proceeded to back up into the intersection full of cars and do a U-turn. I now know why he had a handicapped placard hanging from the mirror of his car.
Seeing as my day wasn't improving, I decided to call in help to look at the water heater. It wasn't as if I had been having much luck on my own. I was really needing a shower that involved both soap and HOT water.
The only thing I managed to rekindle was my temper.
Dad and I had a shouting match in the garage. Something about how the water tank getting wet was my fault and we didn't have the right garage light. I'm a little fuzzy on the details, but I think the doors buckled outward. When we both cooled down we determined that the insulation in the bottom of the hot water heater was just too wet to allow the spark to restart the pilot light. Dad suggested I sit there with a hair dryer to try and dry the mess out. I politely (or not so politely) declined.I also declined the suggestion I take a nice bath with a glass of wine to relax from my frustrating day. I'm just not that into cold water.
Instead, I turned on a fan hoping to dry out the hot water heater and called it a night. Even I can only come up with so much creative language and I had not only exhausted my colorful vocabulary, but I was beat from lack of sleep and trying to unsuccessfully maintain my unfortunately short temper. Hey, I got all my usual chores done, taught class, and put the playroom back together. That has to count for something!
Fortunately, the next day proved to be a good one (even though it was still raining). No more flooding. No more swearing. And best of all - the pilot light lit! My husband breathed a sigh of relief.
Or maybe he just resumed breathing because I was able to take a shower. Either way, works for me.
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