I love the rain. Except for when it has decided it wants to take up residence in my basement.
My parents are out at my dad's high school reunion Mass/breakfast. My dad asked me to keep an eye on the basement, as it's pouring and the basement tends to get water in it. When I got home from Mass around 8:30 this morning, I checked the basement and found a small puddle. No biggie. I just vacuumed it up and went back upstairs.
A little before 11am as I'm getting ready to leave to meet my sister and some of her friends for lunch to talk about plans for my sister's Alex's Lemonade Stand (I got talked into being the Games Coordinator), I checked the basement again.
Sonuvamotherofpearl.
Huge puddle in the front where that little one had been. A flippin' POND in the back of the basement where it had been bone dry two hours earlier.
I. Hate. This. House. With the water in the basement every time it rains, the leaking shower, the hole in the tile in the shower, the two holes cut in the downstairs hallway ceiling so my dad could find the leak in their shower, the fact that we haven't been able to turn on the heat upstairs as the pipes leak through the kitchen ceiling for the past five years or so, and various other annoyances, this place is a pit.
Anyway, I called my sister and informed her that I would have to skip lunch as God has sent another flood and I have to build an ark to save myself. I then spent two hours in the lovely basement vacuuming up 85 gallons of rainwater.
Yes. 85 gallons. And I'm nowhere near finished yet. I filled these 5-gallon buckets that we have, lugged them one by one up the stairs, through the downstairs, and out the back door to dump the water outside. I did that 17 times. 17 times 5 = 85.
I'm taking a break now as my back and arms are killing me from carrying those buckets. At least it's not as bad as the time my mom and I opened the basement door to check after a big rain and we thought everything looked fine (we were at the top of the stairs).
Until a flipflop floated by the bottom of the steps.
A little before 11am as I'm getting ready to leave to meet my sister and some of her friends for lunch to talk about plans for my sister's Alex's Lemonade Stand (I got talked into being the Games Coordinator), I checked the basement again.
Sonuvamotherofpearl.
Huge puddle in the front where that little one had been. A flippin' POND in the back of the basement where it had been bone dry two hours earlier.
I. Hate. This. House. With the water in the basement every time it rains, the leaking shower, the hole in the tile in the shower, the two holes cut in the downstairs hallway ceiling so my dad could find the leak in their shower, the fact that we haven't been able to turn on the heat upstairs as the pipes leak through the kitchen ceiling for the past five years or so, and various other annoyances, this place is a pit.
Anyway, I called my sister and informed her that I would have to skip lunch as God has sent another flood and I have to build an ark to save myself. I then spent two hours in the lovely basement vacuuming up 85 gallons of rainwater.
Yes. 85 gallons. And I'm nowhere near finished yet. I filled these 5-gallon buckets that we have, lugged them one by one up the stairs, through the downstairs, and out the back door to dump the water outside. I did that 17 times. 17 times 5 = 85.
I'm taking a break now as my back and arms are killing me from carrying those buckets. At least it's not as bad as the time my mom and I opened the basement door to check after a big rain and we thought everything looked fine (we were at the top of the stairs).
Until a flipflop floated by the bottom of the steps.