We finally moved into our new house. The house is big and beautiful and everything we thought it would be. Almost.
The master bathroom has a beautiful jacuzzi tub with high-powered jets and plenty of space to stretch out and read a book. Sunday morning I filled the tub with cleaning solution and tested the jets. Maddie ran to get her Cruise Ship Minnie Mouse figurine, and we watched Minnie swirl around and around the whirlpool tub. I pulled the plug to empty the freshly cleaned tub and went into the kitchen to cook breakfast.
A short while later, I heard the familiar call of “Mommmmmmy….”
“Just a minute, Maddie,” I called back, flipping the egg on the stove.
“But, Mommy, the water is everywhere!” she hollered back. My husband and I looked at each other with wide eyes. We dashed through the house and turned the corner into the master bathroom.
Maddie was right. The water was everywhere.
The bathroom floor was covered in 2 inches of water. The water oozed out of the bathroom and onto the bedroom carpet. Maddie’s socks and ankles were soaked. Minnie floated lazily across the bathroom floor. What the…?
My husband opened the shower door. Woooooosh! More water spilled out across our toes. Minnie bobbed up and down across the pool of water where my bathroom floor used to be.
We ran to get rags and the wet/dry vac. As we frantically cleaned, we heard a loud trickle from somewhere else in the house. It sounded like waterfall. We both stopped cleaning and perked our ears. “The basement!” my husband yelled as he took off running. The rag he had been holding splashed onto the bathroom floor.
Oh, the basement. Flooded. The basement with all of our unpacked boxes. Flooded. The basement of our dream house. Flooded.
As he frantically worked to save our boxes, I stepped into the powder room off the kitchen. As soon as I opened the door, I felt it. Squerch. More. Water.
Turns out our dream house has a broken main line to the sewer.
My sister and brother-in-law drove over within 10 minutes and helped us clean up. I cried. The plumbers came on a moment’s notice and identified the problem. I cried some more. As I sit typing this in my dry office at work , the plumber’s crew is at my new house digging up my perennials and my newly manicured bushes to fix the broken pipe.
I started referring to our dream house as “the money pit”. My husband tells me I’m wrong, that it was just bad timing and bad luck.
I still love the house, but I feel a bit betrayed by it. I don’t trust the house anymore.
It’s big and beautiful and everything we always wanted. Almost.