Growing up in LA, I had never seen a house with a basement until I moved to Minnesota. I was immediately intrigued with our basement. After all, it had so many different uses that heretofore had been unbeknownst to me. For example, what does one do with the wedding gift whose purpose or function one can't ever quite figure out, but one also doesn't want to return said gift because that would produce one very upset aunt? Why, one puts it (out of sight) in the basement! Are you having company but are short on time to clean the house? Throw everything in the basement and shut the door! Did a relative unexpectedly stop by in the morning and you don't want to answer the door in your jammies? Basement! ("Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't hear the doorbell ring, I was downstairs in the basement.") Husband's Lego collection? Definitely basement.
You know what else goes in the basement? The main drain, or the place where all the other drains in the house lead to.
You know what happens when that drain backs up?
Water. Everywhere. Suspicious debris. Everywhere. In the shower downstairs. In the sink downstairs. In the toilet downstairs. And. All. Over. The. Basement. Floor.
This has been happening about once a year since we moved here. There used to be a tree in our front yard that has since been removed, but apparently the roots that are left behind are quite resilient, and they can KEEP GROWING even after the tree is long gone.
And boy, have they ever. They keep growing right into the pipe of our main drain and clogging it.
So about once a year the nice people at Mr. Rooter have to come out and snake out the roots that have grown into our main drain. Of course, we don't know ahead of time when this will be. I usually find out when I go downstairs to throw in another load of laundry and find two inches of water all over the floor from the last load, like I did this morning.
So now we sit and wait for the plumber to arrive. Meanwhile, we can't use any water in the house unless we want to add to the mess downstairs. (And honey, I don't care how bad it gets, NO, I am not going across the street to Target everytime I have to pee. You can't make me. I refuse. I would rather go to Target once and buy a package of Depends.) And yes, my husband did seriously suggest that we adopt this plan of action until the plumber arrives.
Anyway, this is why our next house will not have a basement.
So how is everyone else's Saturday morning going?