Adventures in leaky roofs - part of my Lenten penance?!

As I was looking for labels to tag with this post, I came across "house disasters" and thought:

"PERFECT!"

We've been here before, to be sure. And look, I found that post all easy-like by using that label as a guide. ;-)

Uuuuuggggghhhh. But this problem isn't nearly so bad as others, so I can't complain. It's a stressor, to be sure, but a minor one in the grand scheme of things. Let's chronicle.

Last night Mike was at rehearsal, and I put both kids to bed. Just before 9, I was happily listening to a podcast while I crocheted. After about 10 minutes, I took my ear buds out so that I could turn on "19 Kids and Counting." I take a delightful sip of my drink.

Hark. What is that I hear? Sounds like water running. Henry and I had both taken showers, so I assumed that the shower head just wasn't completely turned off. I head to the bathroom, and it quickly becomes apparent that the water noise is not originating from the shower. A beat goes by. Oh. This is bad.

We had rain earlier in the day and the temperature finally above freezing for any stretch of time, and all of this after record ice accumulation and jamming in the region as a whole. Uh oh.

*cue the ominous music*

I follow the sound to our guest room/office. Water is not dripping. It is *pouring* from a few spots in the center of the ceiling down onto the area rug. I run for a receptacle and hustle it into place, along with a towel to mop up the water that already fell. Wait...

I hear more water. I look up.

*little creature bearing a forked tail and horns flies by*

There are no fewer than a dozen beads of water scattered in different places throughout the ceiling. It seems to me that they all glare at me, and then begin dripping simultaneously. As I dash for containers to catch the steadily increasing drips, it becomes apparent that they are breeding and multiplying at an alarming rate, and they aren't always close together. All the Tupperware in the WORLD isn't going to catch all of them. I find a big plastic sheet and some additional towels to handle spots that weren't dripping as rapidly and were the furthest away from their evil minion friends.

When I stopped to take a breath, I realized that the scattered nature of the water was a really, really bad sign. This means that water is pooled up above the ceiling and is just looking for any little crack in the plaster to work it's way through.

Around this time, Mike gets home. He takes one look at my face when I green him at the door and says: "What's wrong?"

"We have a crisis."

Now we both go into the guest room and he scares up some more containers to catch the water. He also has an idea of where the water must be coming in.

"I need to check the crawl space behind Anne's closet. We'll have to wake her."

Fabulous.

Into Anne's room we go, and Mike accesses the crawl space. Yep, rushing water, check. The space is so small he can't get a large container in there to catch everything, so he gets what he can in the area and empties it every few minutes. Meanwhile, Anne has woken up and thinks this is the funnest adventure EVER. She bounces around a lot, asking questions a mile a minute.

Ultimately, Mike gets the water collection system down to a science, which means he'll be up most of the night. :( I take Anne into our room to sleep. And predictably:

"Why did you bring my pillow and quilt in here, Mommy?"

"Because you're going to sleep in here with Mommy, won't that be fun?"

"NO."

"It'll be like a girls' slumber party!"

"NO."

It took quite a bit of convincing to get her to go to sleep, including letting her take over Mike's side of the bed.

"Are you going to turn the light off, Mommy?"

"Yes Honey, after I read for a few minutes."

*3 seconds elapse*

"Are you done yet, Mommy?"

*long suffering sigh*

Somewhere around midnight I'm awoken by Mike trying to clear ice off the roof, and tiny feet kicking, kicking, kicking!

"Mommy! What's that?!"

"My kidney."

"Oh."

*more kicking*

Oh right, this is what it's like to be pregnant. There are some things about it that I really don't miss.

When we awoke this morning, we found the guest room looking a bit more innocent:

The water had stopped leaking down, and apparently everything re-froze around 2 am and stopped coming into the house. Mike was able to sleep following that, after dealing with just one more issue involving a backed up gutter and water coming in via the front door. Oh sigh.

So, calls are in this morning to the roofing guys and the insurance company. We're not the only ones. Leaky roofs are rampant in WNY this winter. It's a bummer, but we'll get through this.

Conditions were treacherous this morning from the freezing rain, thus the driveway continued to build up evil intent against us, in a clear plan to just kill us and be done with it. Anne has been SUCH a good girl, praying for Mike when his car got stuck this morning trying to get Henry to school. So adorable. We're just taking things one step at a time and I've been pulling out my rosary quite a bit. I think springtime and Easter will be even more welcome than usual this year. :)

Another game of "what's that sound?!"

As I alluded to yesterday, it's been an interesting week at our house. Not terrible, certainly not *good*. Stressful, but manageable. I'm maintaining my Advent joy. :0 Hence, let us begin...

This appears to be affixed over our house, for the time being

Monday, 8 pm: "The kitchen ceiling is leaking."

We start with a bang. We've known about this troublesome spot over the kitchen table since shortly after we moved into the house, but it had never gone further than an occasional water spot after a hard rain. We knew that eventually we'd have to address it, but it never made its way to the top of the list of priorities. On Monday, the situation had clearly accelerated.

What happened was that an ice dam manifested on that section of the roof. After a lot of snow the past few weeks, it's gotten a bit milder off and on. The melting snow refroze into ice and got jammed up in our gutters. As the ice thawed, it pooled in the weak section of the roof. Thus, the leaking.

Mike set up an empty wastebasket to catch the water. We fret.

Tuesday, all day: Mike contacts a roofing company and our insurance company. We gather information.

Tuesday, 5 pm: I come home from work to see that the situation has worsened considerably. The water is now dripping rapidly, and very loudly, into several containers that Mike has placed very carefully. The ceiling looks terrible. The water stain is large and angry looking, and the ceiling appears slightly bowed in that one section. This is ominous indeed. A roofer is scheduled to make an appearance Wednesday, but I can see the writing on the wall. Or, the ceiling. :0 The drywall isn't going to be long for this world. We can no longer use the kitchen table since the drip catching containers are in the way.

Tuesday, 8 pm: The dripping is slowly driving me out of my mind. Concentrating on a conversation or my knitting is impossible with the:

*Drip. DRIP. Dripdrip. DRIPDRIPDRIP!!*

...in the background. Dejected and worried, we head to bed early.

Wednesday, 2 am: Mike awakens, and heads downstairs to check on the dripping.

"How is it?"

"Well, it looks a bit worse. But the water is staying in the containers. We should be fine until morning."

Wednesday, 2:05 am: *CRASH!!!!!!*

We run downstairs to find the section above the kitchen table collapsed, the floor a mess of wet and disintegrating drywall chunks and plaster. The water, now freed from it's pooled prison, is dripping happily with increased speed, volume and volatility. All attempts to sweep up the drywall damage are met with:

(a) our broom becoming insufferable and having to go into the garbage can, and

(b) appearance on the beleaguered floor of a PASTE-LIKE substance containing God knows what hazardous materials ceilings were made with in the 1930's.

Good times, I tell you, good times. This goes on until...

Wednesday, 3 am: Mike and I dismantle the kitchen table and move it into the downstairs office.

Wednesday, 3:30 am: Mike drags out garbage bags full of sodden drywall. The state of our rag towels is horrifying. Those go down to the basement.

Wednesday, 3:35 am: We put down a tarp and set up no fewer than 7 containers to catch the now very spread out drips.

Wednesday, 4 am: We go to bed. Sleep does not come until nearly 5 am.

Wednesday, 6:10 am: I wake and glare at the alarm clock.

Wednesday, 6:35 am: I am still in bed, projecting a pissed off attitude into our bedroom. I reluctantly get up and get ready for work.

Wednesday, all day: Mike fields the roofer and the insurance company. Our home owners insurance will cover the cost to fix the interior damage. Fixing the roof will be another matter. Plans are made with the roofer for ice removal and repairs to come after the new year when everything dries out.

Wednesday, 6 pm: The dripping has stopped, for which we ignite a Halleujah chorus. A lot of mess remains, but we have to wait for the water pooling to officially be gone to enact a permanent cleanup expedition. Anne begins to cough. Ohhh. Foreboding.

Thursday, 2 am: *Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip*

Is this a nightmare? It must be a nightmare. Dripping has gone from innocuous background noise to THE SOURCE OF MY ETERNAL TORMENT. Then I realize the dripping is coming from the vicinity of our bedroom. Mike's bedside light slams on.

"It's that icicle! I'm going to try to knock it down!"

Next thing I know, Mike, clad in his boxer shorts, is opening our bedroom window while desperately trying to reach an evil icicle hanging from the roof.

"I can't reach it!"

We both glare at the window. The dripping continues. We get back into bed.

Thursday, 2:10 am: I'm drifting off.

Thursday, 2:11 am: Anne begins to cough.

Thursday, 2:12 am: "MA MA!!"

Thursday, 2:15 am: I'm rocking a warm and newly ibuprofened Anne, poor babe.

Thursday, 2:45 am: I get back into bed. Anne is sleeping. I break out Christmas at Apple Ridge, since I am wide awake.

Thursday, 3:15 am: I turn off the bedside lamp. Attempt to fall asleep.

Thursday, 6:15 am: I awaken in a volatile mood, beyond exhausted. I glare at the clock.

Thursday, all day: Ice is removed from our roof. Plans are made for damage repair, but those won't come right away. We're hosting Christmas dinner in less than a week, and the kitchen looks catastrophic.

Sometimes, my friends, such is the way of things.