The night before Chris returned from his overseas missions trip, I sent him a text message with the above picture and a note to the effect of, "Water is flooding the basement again when I wash clothes. Would you mind calling Jim when you get home?"
Thanks to modern technology, we texted each other the entire time he was away, sending happy pictures of ourselves and our surroundings. We even tried to Face Time once, which was brief, due to a stalled connection. I will gladly still take my husband live for a minute, even if it means broken conversation and frozen poses.
Anyway, the water seemed harmless (wasn't the first time).
Probably just a clogged pipe.
That next evening, around 11:30pm, I picked up my scruffy man from the airport, fresh off of his nine day outreach. I baked him brownies and brought him a travel tumbler of our favorite hazelnut decaf. For sure, our grocery store beans paled in comparison to the Nicaraguan coffee he had grown accustomed to, but he was grateful.
Nicaragua is only two hours behind us, so the time difference didn't phase him much, but the experience did. It was a marked moment in his life, one I know he will carry with him for a long time. The people, the children, the joys and challenges.. he had a dozen stories to tell me. It was a pleasant drive, almost as if we had the freeway to ourselves.
If you recall, I made mention about hubby's disdain (fear) of mimes in an earlier post. Our roommate and I were this close to painting our faces white for Chris's arrival, but decided against it at the last minute. Amanda had her own fun while we were gone, though, as she surprised both of us by filling our room with decorated balloons.
Such a sweet girl. Clever, too.
Unfortunately, that surprise was clouded by what we found the next morning. Instead of sudsy water, raw sewage flooded the basement floor. And by "we," I mean Amanda made the discovery, and she and Chris set to trouble-shooting it.
I don't do well with this kind of crisis. I can handle medical situations, life changes, and family emergencies, but poop sludge and bugs are where I make my exit. Hubby and I have an understanding, which is why my farmer's market date with Anna came at the perfect time. She and I got to buy goat cheese and spelt waffles, while the sewage situation was being handled at home.
Turns out, our handyman-on-speed-dial friend, Jim, was out of town, so Chris called 911. Plumbing 911. Over the next few days, they came, assessed ("clogged pipe" was an understatement), projected, quoted, jack-hammered, repaired, cleaned, and cemented our basement floor.
Seriously, they were the nicest guys. And very professional. Not one poop joke. Okay maybe one, but only because I provoked them.
Life is colorful.