Feb 20th.
It was just before seven a.m. All five of us were up early
eating breakfast. The kids were doing the normal deal- stabbing each other with
spoons, stealing each other’s napkins, debating over who had more cheerios and
taking the time to count them. I ran quickly into the basement to grab
something and noticed the floor was slightly damp near the drain. My husband
was on his way out to work and I grabbed his arm- “Joe- can you check the
basement maybe if you have time? There’s a small leak or drip or something. Or
I don’t know, no big deal….” Joe ran downstairs. Two minutes later there’s a
noise like a fire hydrant has exploded in our basement. Joe starts yelling my name, I run downstairs
to see him completely soaked, his full body weight pressed through his hand
that’s pressed against the value on some pipe- holding back pounds of water that
is exploding into our laundry room.
He was trying to tell me about the some broken valve and some
switch and something about our basement being ruined. It was important. I know
it was important but he had to yell over the pressure of the water and the boys
were yelling and Elena was yelling and so I started yelling. What do you need?!
I can’t hear you! What do I do?! Where is a switch? Are you going to get
electrocuted? And I see the basement floor being covered in water while Joe is
trying to think through the situation and how our plumbing works, while holding
back all this water while I stand on the stairs and yell insane things at the
kids. I yell things like, GET A FLASHLIGHT!! (a flashlight?!) The boys come
running to me with fisher price playskool lanterns. I go down in the well- lit
basement to try and hand them to Joe. He looks at me like I am insane and yells
for a flathead screwdriver.
I can do that. I run upstairs and look for a screwdriver. No
Elena you cannot have more cheerios. (Do you understand we are under duress?!)
NO more cheerios. No! NO! Where’s the screwdriver?! Fine. Have some cheerios.
I deliver the screw driver and after more water, more water, a
slight shock, a white wire, and a switch later the flooding has stopped. The
pump stops violently pumping water into our home. I run upstairs for towels where Elena is
sitting eating her fourth bowl of cheerios. She must have heard all the
commotion downstairs and the boys running for flashlight upstairs and picked up
on the sky high tension adrenaline level because now she sits very quietly and
sings softly- “Mom, I am being soooooo good. I am sooooooo good.”
“Yes Elena,” I hand her napkins as I head downstairs.
Having stopped the water Joe now needs to run to Home Depot to
grab a new valve. Or plug. Or whatever it is to replace the metal thing that is
broken in half on our basement floor.
Our hero heads out and it is 7:30am and I set to work to cleaning up our
basement. I’m standing in the basement with wet towels and wet carpet pieces
and wet laundry and can hear the t.v. upstairs. I had sent the boys to watch
cartoons so I could clean up the wreck. All of a sudden I realize that one day
their basements might flood. And Elmo, or Curious George won’t be able to help
them. So I yell for my sons. I also think about yelling for my daughter (her
basement could flood too one day) but she’s two. And she now has complete
control of the cereal distribution, so I decide not to rock that boat.
The boys come to the top of the stairs and look down at me
while I explain that I need their help. I ask them to take off their pants and
shoes and socks and come down in the basement and help me clean up this water.
They start to complain. Water is wet. And cold. And they
don’ttttt waaaannnt tooooo.
“BOYS!!” I say, my voice tense, rising, “MEN- Men DO NOT
complain when there is a CRISIS.” I point to the water. “This is a crisis. MEN
DO NOT COMPLAIN OR WHINE. They HELP and they WORK and they do what needs to be
done.” I stare them down and address my five and four year old. “Men, take off
your socks and get .in. this. basement.”
They look down at their mother. Soaking wet pajamas, messy bun
on top of her head, standing in water and wet towels and deadly serious. They
get down in that basement.
Well. One did. The other was sent to his room to consider if
he wanted to help like a man, or wanted to whine like a baby. Then he too, came
down into the basement.
I handed my five year old the shop vac. This is how you shop
vac water I told him. I showed him and he went to work. I handed my four year
old a garbage bag. This is how you cut up wet carpet pieces to put into a
garbage bag, I told him, showed him and he went to work. And we all worked in
that basement. And they became so proud of their pruney feet, and that their
shirts were getting wet and how strong they were as they lifted up clothes. And I became so proud of them as I watched my
little boys clean up our home.
And that morning, it
was good. I mean, besides the water, and the flooding and the hours of work
ahead of me. Those boys in nothing but t.shirts and underwear standing in our
basement, learning how a family works, learning how to clean up a mess they
didn’t make, learning that helping isn’t always fun. That working is what gets
the job done. And when a job needs to be done, they are completely capable to
somehow help do it.
And this is real life- I tell them as we move wet towels and
vacuum the water and throw away trash. And sometimes when real life throws
water into your basement and you don’t know what to do –you just figure it out.
Maybe there will be yelling and running around, but you figure it out.
Just like how
Daddy did and Mommy did and now you are too.
