At Least I Didn't Leave the Iron On

Ten year old youngest daughter whispered, “He took it better than I thought he would.” Then she acted out what she expected him to do when he opened the garage door and stepped into the kitchen to see buckets and wet stains on the ceiling.

“GOSH!” she grunted with a contorted face and body movements indicating extreme frustration. “That’s what I thought Daddy would do.” Then she laughed.

*****

It is the best plan. Husband and two oldest daughters leave early for a college football game and youngest daughter has nowhere be (no driving for me today!); a perfect day to catch up on cleaning.

My dear mother just left a week earlier after a three day visit and a hundred suggestions for me on how to make things around the house look a little better. Sooo…I hop to it.

First task – laundry; I have one load going. I’ll do the whites next. But first, I need to soak the cloth that mom used to dust to get the furniture polish out of it.

I close the drain in my master bath sink, turn on the water, put the cloth in, pour in a little bleach…

I blackout.

I’m now running around the house with Layla-the-dog on a leash.

“Oh, I think I’ll give her some more exercise and walk to the corner and back.”

Back home, as I open the kitchen door, Layla and I are met with a very excited ten year old who was on her way to search for us.

“Mommy, there’s water coming out of the ceiling!”

I dash up the stairs, thinking…my washer…how could it be overflowing? It’s still new!”

At the top of the stairs, I glance in the laundry room. Normal.

Still racing in my 4-minute mile pace, I head towards the sound of running water and quickly turn off the faucet. I take two seconds to assess the situation. Do I clean the kitchen or bathroom first?

The kitchen.

Down the stairs to the garage, get buckets, put under streams (by now) coming from the recessed lighting and a flat speaker cover.

Run back upstairs with useless mop. Throw down towels instead.

Repeat this pattern a couple more times.

Door bell rings. It’s a relative. Gotta let’im in.

I add socializing to the fiasco.

I can’t remember when I put on the tank top and shorts, but as I one-leg it up to a two foot-plus high counter stool to check inside the cabinets for hiding water, the thirty-one year old relative notices. My age comes up in our conversation and he exclaims, “Wow, you’re in amazing shape!”

Nice that I lost those few pounds recently; hope to keep it off through the holidays. Ha! Fat chance…no pun intended.

I digress.

My great plan for the day is ruined, and as ugly as the situation is, I refuse to “lose it.” Yes, internally, I moan a little about having so much responsibility and the need to multi-task, and a few other good excuses - but I let it go; just clean up, and let it go.

It helps that my children think it’s very funny. My middle daughter says, “This is when I’d like the teacher to ask us to write a paper about what we did over the weekend. ‘My mother flooded the bathroom and it came down through the kitchen ceiling.’”

All three girls laugh.

Husband/Daddy retreats to the couch and a TV football game – his substitution for a drink.

Hey…at least I didn’t leave the iron on and burn down the house.

What was your blunder? Have you let it go, or do you still feel quilt?