It was a typical Thursday morning in our house. Alarm goes off at 5:45-the very last minute to sleep before brushing my teeth, throwing on my gym clothes and heading out the door to head to the Y. I stumble into the bathroom and hear the faint noise of water running. “Is it the toilet?” I wonder. I jiggle the lever and the sound remains. “Ssssss” I listen with a more attentive ear.
I decide it’s time to turn off the water at the source. I crouch down and begin to turn the knob thinking, “Righty-tighty, lefty-loosy” as I try to wake up my brain. I finally finish turning the corroded knob and listen even closer. “Still there,” I repeat. I contemplate waking up my husband, but my lapse of judgement gets the best of me and I decide to let everyone sleep and I head out the door.
Flash forward an hour and a half. It’s now 7:15 am and as I walk in the door from HIIT, I am confronted with, “Mom! Dad’s in a really bad mood!” I stop in my tracks and realize heading to the gym and kindly letting everyone sleep in may not have been my best decision of the day.
Up the basement steps he comes and I take one good look and realize we have a problem on our hands. His black sweatshirt is covered in sheetrock dust and he has a single bead of sweat dripping down his cheek. “Dad? What happened again? Can I go in the basement? Which toilet can I use? Are you tired? Mom! You’re not going to believe what happened!” our ever-so-helpful son repeats, which only makes matters worse.
At that point, I knew to hold back any reaction, knowing this is not how anyone wants to start the day, let alone my sweet husband who takes care of other people’s homes daily. One look says it all. A pipe burst. Leaked water all over our basement from our second floor master bath. Through layers of sheetrock, into our first floor powder room and right into our basement.
Tomorrow’s a new day, right? I know our family will excuse the mess while having Easter dinner here!