Well, Christmas is right around the corner and it is the first time that I will have spent it with family in my own home. Up to this point, every Christmas in my adult life has been spent in someone else’s home. It will be interesting to see how that goes. We hosted a Christmas party at our home yesterday and while remodeling is still well under way the laundry room portion of the work had at least been completed. Even so, we had some serious cleaning and prep work to do for Saturday. Add a leaking basement on top of that and it made for a very eventful weekend.
Our party went very well, we had a number of people over that varied from neighbors to realtors, mortgage brokers to church pastors. When I sent out the invitation to everyone via email one of the big draws I used was the world famous Filippo holiday punch (I could tell you what is in it, but then I would have to kill you). The one thing everyone agreed upon was that I had not oversold on the punch. I admit it was a bit strange to hand someone a glass of it while asking, “You don’t have any odd fruit allergies do you?” I’m also fairly confident that at least two of my guests walked away later in the evening thinking that there was alcohol in the punch… Whoops, I probably should have clarified that bit as well.
To expound on the leaking basement topic, I am now convinced that the last snowfall (and subsequently, the melting of it) has caused the water table in my area to be raised to approximately eight feet above the ground floor of my home. My sump pump has been working almost around the clock trying to keep up with the flow of water into my basement… Seriously, if you look at the holes leading into the pit it is like someone turned on a faucet. Of course, all of this is compounded by the fact that I now seem to have sprung leak in an unidentified location that deposits a large quantity of water in the middle of my basement floor at a rate roughly equivalent to that of snow melt. At this point I am thinking I ought to change the name of my blog to ‘Adventures in Home Ownership.’
For those of you who were curious, I was able to get Leslie’s gift completed this week. Now that you are able to see the picture I hope it makes a little more sense how a few carefully placed nails constituted about 75% of the work. And before any one comments on it, yes, I know the ‘M’ is improperly capitalized, the company I used to do the printing sent me a different proof than the actual final proof, as such I didn’t catch the error until after I got the print. I figure as long as I can avoid actually having to look at the clock I won’t notice the mistake, the downside of this is that I have this clock prominently displayed in my living room… We might have to move.
For those of you that haven’t heard, the doctors recommended that Leslie schedule a C-section several weeks prior to her due date to minimize the chances of her going into labor. This week when she went in for her doctor’s appointment she was able to schedule the procedure; barring any unforeseen and disastrous circumstances we should be seeing baby girl on January 9th around 0900. That’s only about three weeks before we originally expected her and less than three weeks from now… wait, what?
Two months after we moved into the house I finally broke down and bought a microwave. Granted, a month of my delay was simply because up until the point where I finished the cabinetry we simply did not have a place to put it. Shortly before the Christmas party I took it out of the box and put it next to the refrigerator. I think I might have to move it… Because it is winter and because I have been wearing house shoes I have had a tendency to build up quite a bit of static electricity, this morning I shocked myself bad enough on the refrigerator that it reset the clock on the microwave; that can’t be healthy.
Well, it is time for me to wrap things up; I’ve got to go stare at the dish washer for an entire wash cycle to see if I can figure out why it begins to leak at the end of each wash cycle. Just call me Handy Andy… well, except that my name isn’t Andy.