The rain in Spain falls mainly…in my house.

Last July our house flooded. Mechanical error combined with human error, and in a few minutes it was, as Trevor so passionately exclaimed, “raining in Michael’s room!” I ran to Michael’s downstairs bedroom, and it was indeed raining. Water was pouring from the air vent, the ceiling fan, the walls, and the floor. I immediately thought of the bathroom directly above and ran upstairs to find the toilet overflowing. Guess what? No shut-off valve on the toilet. Why hadn’t I noticed that before? I ran back downstairs to Michael’s closet where the water shut off valves are. There are a bunch of them.

Get your dad on the phone!” I screamed to one of the kids.

How do you shut the water off to the upstairs toilet?” I screamed to my husband.

“What’s going on?” he calmly said.

I repeated myself. “Just hurry and tell me how to do it!”

“Why do you need to know that?” Once again, he was so nice and calm.

I’m standing in water in Michael’s room. JUST TELL ME HOW TO SHUT IT OFF ALREADY!” (Let me just say, that at this point, I was not only standing in the water (toilet water), but it was raining down on me (toilet water) and I was soaked (in toilet water) and not calm.)

 “Gee…you don’t have to yell at me!” I love him. Really, I do.

None of the valves were labeled correctly, so they all had to go off. It took superhuman strength to shut them off, but it was still raining, and it continued to rain until all of the water that had pooled upstairs found its way downstairs.

No amount of towels, shop-vac, or tears could stop that water from destroying my laminate flooring. I’ll spare you the details, but our insurance company replaced everything and it was a happy, happy thing. I will comment, however, on the drying process. The restoration specialists brought in 11 (or was it 15?) high-powered fans and pointed them here, there, and everywhere to dry out my house. The noise was unbelievably, inescapably DEAFENING. For 5 days, 24 hours a day, I endured the roar. I couldn’t just leave all the time; there were things to be done at the house and a captain never leaves the ship, right?

Conversations went something like this:




And so on. But by the end of the day I needed ibuprofen and a lobotomy.

We survived, replaced the toilet, floors, and baseboard, put the house back together, and went on with our lives.


Hard to believe, isn’t it?

The contents of Michael’s room are now piled in the living room, the fans are back, and I am in the market for an outhouse, because apparently, you have to be over 21 to use a toilet properly in my house.

P.S. Eric was spared the drama of flood #1 because he was at work, and came home after everything was under control. He witnessed flood #2. This time, he was not nice and calm. Ha!