The Rainy Dampish Soggy Squishy Wet-Everything Blues

Rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain. Rain. Rain. Rain drizzle rain.

You get the idea. It has rained a shitload recently, and all of the rain went into my motherpluckin' basement.

Home ownership. It is lovely for about...3 months out of the year. When the grass in the backyard is lush green, and one can sit on the deck with a glass of wine listening to birdsong, or the entire landscape is curvy white with snow and the air smells new. When the leaves are all burnt sienna and a deer tiptoes across the treeline. Before we have to turn on the heat in the fall or the air conditioners ('cause Mama don't sleep in a hot bedroom) in the summer. When we have a houseful of friends because we can. When the chickens are pecking through the bugs and the kids are on the back porch and I can open the kitchen window and breathe in the fresh Maine air. And smell a little chlorine from the pool.

And then there are the other times. When the boiler craps out because someone *ahem* forgot to call the oil company like she said she would. When staring at a pile of laundry that the dog peed on that can't be washed because the machine decided to be a bitch. And, I found out, when waking up on a Sunday morning to discover the kitty litter box floating on top of 6 inches of water in the basement. Dudes, this was seriously gross. I mean, at least the water wasn't IN the box, but. That is a small comfort. The dank water was actually high enough to snuff the flame to our oil burner, which meant no hot water.

And the cat was so mad about having a swimming pool around his box that he barfed on our bed. 

They're smiling because they can't smell themselves.

I dunno about you, but for me, with two small kids and a dog and a cat and smelly butts all around everywhere, hot water is a necessity. I was not in the mood to go all Little House (which we did several times this winter when said boiler crapped) and put a pot of water to simmer on the stove, so decamp we did to my parents' house, my childhood home. We brought pizzas and grandkids so my folks were not put out. Little A. got to play with my mother's ancient dollies and have ice cream. Baby G greeted my dad with outstretched arms and didn't want to leave his lap the rest of the night (which might have been the cutest thing I have ever seen).

And I had a glass of wine and read O Magazine after the girls went to bed and Tim went home and sump-pumped out the basement because if you're going to have a crappy old house it is very handy to obtain a partner who knows how to fix all kinds of things so take my advice and get one of those. And also a sump pump, and a fire extinguisher, and a good homeowner's insurance policy. By Monday morning, the oil burner was back on, and by that evening, the cellar floor was basically dry.

So we all lived happily ever after, except for all the piles of sodden disgusting crap (some literal, some figurative) in the basement. When you next visit, please ignore the dumpster in the driveway. We're trying to keep it classy around here.

Con muchos besos, A