Right now we’re recovering from flood number four. I think I may have drowned some kittens in a previous life and karma is making us pay. For those of you who don’t know, here’s the past flood synopsis:
May 2004: It rains 5 inches in 30 minutes. Water backs up from the outside air conditioner, floods the foyer and part of the living room. The insurance people are great and we have no problems paying for the floor repair.
August 2005: Our washing machine decides to fill continuously until our laundry room, kitchen, hall, bathroom, and dining room are under several inches of water.
Two days later: Still drying out. We’ve had our washing machine repaired and are attempting to wash our clothes, every stitch of which had been used to mop up the flood. As if mocking us, the washing machine (previously fine on test runs) overfills. Rob comes home to find water pouring out of the foundation. It floods the above mentioned, plus all the bedrooms, the other bathroom, the foyer and part of the living room. This time we have nothing with which to mop. We live in a hotel for a week (no fun with a 7 month old) and live off of concrete for several weeks thereafter.
The insurance people give us far less than what is necessary for repairs. We think about complaining, but then Hurricane Katrina hits. Our adjuster is in Louisiana rescuing his family.
And now, the sad most recent flood:
Diaper-free time turns disastrous. In an effort to clean the enormous mess before the cat starts, um, eating it, I swipe with a paper towel and toss it in the toilet. Not the smartest thing to do. But, you know… heat of battle. You may try to guess what comes next, but it’s worse. Everything seemed fine. Yet because the flapper had been slowly leaking for weeks… the unnoticed clog caused a quiet, constant overflow. Of course it was so quiet we didn’t notice for an hour and a half. It was only until the carpet felt squishy underfoot that I realized. Since I am now an expert in these matters, I had the water extraction people, the carpet repair men, and the plumber in the house within the hour.
So, we spent all weekend with industrial fans blowing, sharp tacks sticking out everywhere and a giant dehumidifier pushing the heat in the house up to 83 degrees. (This was not good when Violet and I woke up with fevers on Sunday.) But after shelling out a bizillion dollars, things are back to normal. Just don’t tell our insurance company. They’re not very happy with us.