How high's the water, Martha?

Friday morning, I arrive at the in-laws place to work the garage sale for the weekend, only to see a bleary-eyed sister in-law pop her head out of the doorway saying, "The basement is flooding."

Crisis.

I am the ranking adult.

What fun.

I hate being a grownup.

Almost immediately, however, the grandparents show up, and we embark on a mission to stop new water from coming into the house.

We check the pool: not leaking.
We check the hot water tank: not leaking.
We check the water outlets: not leaking.
We check the pipes: not leaking.
We step in the overflowing sump water.
Whoomp, there it is.

We bail out the sump until we can see the pump outlet, which is not attached. I get to manually hold the pump outlet on the outlet pipe until my hands freeze and we are able to re-attach the clamp that would normally hold the pipes together, and the sump drains. Cleanup begins. Total damage: remarkably little.

So that was my weekend. Flood damage and haggling about whether my garbage is worth $0.50 or $0.25. Plus we had company on Saturday night (and out at a wedding reception until 2:30) and Sunday night. Jenn started her French class this morning, and I am back to the old grindstone. Tonight I am an observer at an MRJC mediation, so that should be educational. Anyway, I'm off to put some caselaw in a binder and read it before I finish this section of my thesis. Then one more brief section and I hand this draft in.