Adam had his first day of graduate school
today.
I thought I would be a hard
worker and get a lot accomplished. But I was also a little lazy, too.
So I loaded up the dishwasher, still the original
machine in the new house, and turned it on. Nothing happened. I called Dad, and
he reminded me to turn the dishwasher’s water lines back on. Easy enough,
right? I should have thought of that. The girls and I played, read some books,
and then decided to do lunch in town and go to a park. Maybe even see Great
Grandma. A few hours had passed.
On the way to get shoes on, we noticed that the
kitchen floor was wet. Flooded, actually. As in, “Hey, get the plastic boats
from the bathtub!” flooded. Monsoon season flooded. The dishwasher had not
drained normally and instead was draining all over the floor, which apparently
has low points over by the clothes washing machine in the entry and also in the
space between the fridge and the oven. That’s where the pool of water was
deepest, of course.
I sent the girls to play in another room, but of
course they hung around to watch and ask a thousand questions about the
water. And splash. And get yelled at by
a panicking mommy. And splash some more.