Drip, Drip, Drip!

Things are a little crazy at the Craig house. I know, I know…things stay pretty crazy at the Craig house. But, you see, it’s raining. And I don’t mean outside, wait…it is raining outside. But it’s also raining in my living room.

Not a big downpour but a constant, steady, every increasing, drip…drip….drip, coming down from four, maybe five different spots.

It started nine days ago. Imagine me coming downstairs first thing in morning, looking totally put together, makeup on, dressed to kill, thirty pounds lighter. (Okay, I never look like that in the morning, but believe me, it’s a much better picture than the truth, and since you were imagining…) Anyway, as soon as I step into my living room, I see it. A small puddle of liquid between my sofa and the coffee table.

Now, you know, we have animals, right? So you can guess my first thought, can’t you? Someone tiddled. So I do what I’m sure you would do if you were in my situation. I yelled for my husband to come down and clean it up. He’s the one on tiddling duty. (We use to have the “who saw it first” rule. But I learned real quick that men never notice crap like that. So I made a new rule. I don’t clean up tiddle. I mean, I cook and write, therefore I don’t do tiddle or other unexpected surprises.

Anyway…before husband arrives on the crime scene, I hear it. Drip. Drip. Drip. It’s coming from the heating vent in the ceiling. Hmm…this isn’t just tiddle.

And I know I’m in for a world of trouble.

You see, my husband considers himself a Mr. Fix it. Don’t tell anyone but the truth is he can’t stand dishing out the bucks for someone to do a job that he’s certain he could do himself. And don’t get me wrong, my husband is a multi-talented man—at some things. Yes, he’s inspired a lot of my scenes in my romance novels, but can I just remind you about his carpet-cleaning talents?

So here’s sort of barebones overview of how things have gone and where we are at right now. P.S. It’s written in the third person to protect the guilty.

Day One: Unnamed Hubby claims what was once thought of as tiddle is just due to the wife’s son (notice how said son is only related to the wife whenever things aren’t good) because he took a shower without closing the shower doors. Sofa is moved, and a bowl is placed to catch drip.

Day Two: Drip…drip…drip. Wife claims that it has to be more than leftover shower spill. Hubby claims he’s in charge of drip duty and proceeds to move furniture and caulk bathroom tub.

Day Three: Drip…drip…drip. Faster drip. Drip morphs into two different drips coming from two different places of heating vent. Hubby, a very intelligent man, has an answer to that problem also: he puts another bowl on the floor and a plastic tarp to catch overflow drips. But wife does see concern on hubby’s face that maybe…just maybe he’s wrong. He’s really scared. Not of wife, but because he knows wife is taking notes and pictures for her blog.

Day Four: The worse thing happens. Drip continues and hubby admits he’s wrong. But does he call in a professional? Oh no. He sets out to investigate the cause of the drip. Bad…bad idea! His policy? Never let a little sheetrock come between him, a wanna-be plumber, and a leaky pipe. Hubby puts a hole through the wall of the son’s closet to see bathtub pipes. All is dry. Drip increases. What is wanna-be plumber’s fix to that problem? Another bowl is added to the living room floor.

Day Five: Wanna-be plumber puts a hole through sheetrock in guest bedroom’s closet to see master bathroom’s bathtub pipes. All is dry. Drip is dripping faster. Another bowl is added to floor and wife is given bowl duty during hubby’s work hours to empty containers of water.

Day Six: Three holes are made in living room ceiling to see if hubby can find where the leak is coming from. Hubby discovers there is a floor between the ceiling and the second story that prevents him from seeing exactly where the leak is coming from. Wife suggests hubby call in a professional…again. But no, wanna-be plumber is certain he has the answer.

Day Seven: Drip…drip…drip is increasing in tempo. Three additional holes are made in upstairs hallway to see if hubby can spot any signs of a leaking pipe. No leaking pipe. But Eureka, hubby finds a wet spot. (See ! He could be a plumber after all!) But it’s late and drip is increasing. Wanna-be plumber resorts to putting a large bucket on living room floor and decides to further investigate tomorrow night.

Day Eight: Bucket is full. Fifteen holes are made in sheetrock. Leaky pipe still not found. But wanna-be plumber is certain it will only take a few more holes before he finds the leaky pipe. Wanna-be plumber still refusing to call in a professional. Wife wonders who is going to replace sheetrock. Wanna-be plumber claims to know a thing or two about sheet rocking. In other words…more blogs to come.

So…that’s what’s going on at the Craig house. Any crazy stuff happening in your world? Anyone know a good plumber and sheetrock person in the Houston area? Hey, I’ve put my foot down, I’ve limited him to 20 holes.