My eleven-year-old came running at my sharp scream, and realizing that he was the one who had left the water running, turned to me with eyes wide and the words "I'm so....." emerging from his mouth. I had already pushed past him to run to the basement, where the wall dripped from under the window and the carpet stood under water. Too late, I remembered Daniel spraying the garden and then his brother, running for the house as William emerged from the trampoline to chase him. The hose must have been flung in the exact spot where it could do the most harm, and in the melee, no one thought to turn it off.
More screaming ensued, as the culprit and I used every beach towel in the house to mop up water, dry the windowsill and walls. That basement room has flooded twice before, which is why Rob and I paid thousands of dollars to have new windows put in, and thousands more to replace the concrete behind the house so the water would drain away from the foundation. We had thought of everything - except the errant ways of children. "Ha, ha!" said the universe. "I can take away both the sun and your sense of well-being in one well-planned morning."
Rob took my desperate phone call as he entered the morning status meeting, and had to deal with my wails as several execs looked on in astonishment. Post-meeting he rushed to meet me at home, where we tore up the carpet and pads, set the carpet to dry, and established fans in the basement bedroom. We finished just in time to apply our eclipse glasses and watch the sun nearly cover the moon. It was quiet and cool in our backyard as all but a sliver of light died out in an eerie stillness. Despite the awe, it was anticlimactic. The main event of the morning had already occurred, and all I could think was that I needed the sun to come back out and dry my carpet.
Impressive, isn't it??
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