When you have a lot of family stay over for the weekend, you expect there will be some bumps in the road. By bumps, of course, I mean, a shortage of pillows or towels… Not a flood in the kitchen, two damaged cars, and a broken fence. No, these would not qualify as bumps. These would qualify as mountains.
All had actually gone very well for the first part of the weekend. Somehow with only three bedrooms, we managed to find places for six adults and four children to sleep. Everyone got along great, there was no waiting time for the bathrooms and, miraculously, we did not run out of toilet paper.
But as we were drying the last dish from the massive holiday dinner the night before, the proverbial brisket hit the fan.
Glancing down for a moment, I suddenly noticed a puddle. Actually, it was a little more than a puddle. It was a tsunami. And it was flowing from the bottom of my dishwasher.
“The dishwasher is leaking!” I yelled. Everyone looked down in surprise. How six adults could be standing in the kitchen and not notice that water was pouring onto the floor and down the hall was a mystery to me. For a moment, we all just tried to absorb the fact that my kitchen was rapidly becoming a swimming pool, and then we sprang into action.
“Turn off the dishwasher,” yelled my husband.
“Drain the sink,” shouted my sister-in-law.
“Grab some towels,” bellowed my brother.
“Shut off the water,” said my mother.
“Ruff, ruff,” barked the dog.
The dishwasher was swiftly shut off, the sink drained, and the mess mopped up. We all stood panting for a minute, relieved that we had contained the disaster so quickly. Then, in the silence, we heard the sound of running water.
“THE BASEMENT!” I yelled.
I made a mad dash for the basement to find the water from upstairs pouring through the ceiling and flooding the downstairs. There was more yelling for towels and more mopping up until finally FEMA was called in and the whole place was declared a national emergency. Looking at the mess, we decided the best thing to do was just leave the house.
Fortunately there was a street fair in town that day.
“I think a change of scenery would do everyone good,” said my husband.
“Good plan,” I agreed.
We rallied the troops outside quickly. Then I jumped into my car, backed out of the garage, and smashed right into the side of my brother’s car.
He stood with his mouth agape. And then turned to me.
“Well, that’s unfortunate.”
While all the adults stood analyzing the damage to the cars, the bored kids decided to take up a game of baseball to pass the time.
In the distant background, we heard the crack of a met bat meeting a baseball.
“Incoming!” someone bellowed from the other side of the fence.
Suddenly a baseball came crashing through the wooden gate, and ricocheted off my parents’ car leaving a gaping hole in the fence and a large dent in the car.
My guests all turned and looked at me.
“Fun weekend,” I said. “Want to come back for Thanksgiving?”
Note: For more “Lost in Suburbia,” visit Tracy’s blog at www.lostinsuburbia.net