My marriage is all wet

I woke up my daughter this morning and she immediately said she needed a certain piece of clothing that had no appropriate substitute. Did she tell me last night, when I would have instructed her to put the wet load of wash into the dryer?  No.  I run to the basement grumbling about being a slave to my children and search through a wet load of clothes for the item, so that I could throw into the dryer for 15 or 20 minutes. 

At that point, I noticed a puddle of water around the drain on the basement floor.  I know that’s not good.  The last time there was water, it was about three inches deep, thanks to a broken sump pump.  But wait, we have a battery backup sump pump.  What the heck?  I run upstairs and tell Matt, who’s in the shower.  Then I let daughter know her clothing is in the dryer.

Matt finishes his shower, goes downstairs, says some choice words, puts on his coat and goes outside.  I go down to the basement to remove stuff from the floor, in case the whole thing floods.  Suddenly, the pipe on the sump pump lets go, shooting ice cold water in all directions.  I run upstairs and shout to Matt that there’s water flying all over the place.  I go back to the basement, grab a towel and charge the pipe, wrapping the towel around it so the water is at least contained.  Matt comes down with a shop vac, which he tries to squeeze past me.  After doing a little dance in front of the utility tub, he manages to plug in the shop vac so it can start sucking up water off the floor.

Unfortunately, the shop vac is not sucking up any water.  Matt unplugs the sump pump so that it’s no longer squirting water, but now we have to worry about more water coming up from the drain.  I have to make sure the girls are still getting ready for school, and I implore them to please just get ready and don’t gripe about anything.  This would so be the wrong morning for griping.  I also call the emergency plumber, because of course it’s only 6:30 am.  Matt is trying to cut some PVC pipe to replace the broken pipe.  He puts it into place, turns on the sump pump, and bam!  Water squirting everywhere again.  Crud.  It turns out that he needs a special piece with a little collar on one end.  The piece would cost about $10 at the hardware store, but the emergency plumber is already on the way.

Matt discovers that a small hole in the shop vac is affecting its suction, so he manages to suck up the water by holding his hand over the hole.  I take one kid to the bus stop and get the other off to school in the spare car.  The phone rings.  It’s the plumber.  All of the technicians are out on runs already, but we’re first in line for the next available tech.  Lovely.  I change out of my wet pajamas and socks.  Things seem to be OK down there; the water’s all gone and the pump is ready for its new piece.

Some $442 later, we have a working sump pump.  More importantly, Matt and I didn’t kill each other.

I think that’s what the minister was talking about when he made us promise “for better or for worse.”  When you’re both covered in ice cold water, yelling and cursing and trying to make sure the kids get to school and nobody steps on the cats and you’re spending money you don’t have – that’s what you signed up for.  That’s marriage.  I’m glad I didn’t have to do this alone.