Somehow between “Leave it To Beaver” and “Modern Family” most of us developed this crazy notion that the American Dream is tied to home ownership. Sure, a white-picket fence might be overkill, but we definitely want a mortgage, our own roof and the blissful delusion that we aren’t throwing money down a rat hole every month.
But from where I’m sitting, renting sounds pretty good. Heck, even a rat hole sounds nice and cozy.
Right now I’m staring up into the gaping hole that used to be my kitchen ceiling. The exposed plumbing lines go straight to the kids’ bathroom.
Did your Christmas dinner involve the upstairs toilet overflowing, seeping through the ceiling, and raining onto what is now known as “the poop table?” No? Hmm… Well, the 17 people who came to my house experienced an evening they’ll never forget.
When I laid out my grandmother’s china that afternoon, I never imagined that a few hours later it would be doused by “level three contamination” water.
The next morning I called our homeowners insurance. “Who are you,” the lady asked me, “the Griswold family?” The insurance company immediately sent out a crew to hunt down moisture and suck it up with two giant dehumidifiers. It was then that we discovered that the water had traveled through the heating vent into the laundry room as well.
At first, I didn’t think the dehumidifiers would be a big deal. That was before I was instructed to move all wine bottles out of the kitchen because they would be turned to vinegar. After only a few hours, my hair rose up. A week later my daughter’s head was a blur of statically-charged blond fuzz. The machines were so loud nobody could watch television, or hear me moan about my dried-out eyeballs.
Our computer was unavailable, too, because the demolition crew sequestered the center of our house into zippered-off walls of plastic. Witnessing my 10-year-old son go cold turkey on Minecraft wasn’t pretty.
But it was OK, because we were making progress. Right? Well, before they started ripping things apart, the mitigation workers realized that the linoleum in the laundry room contains asbestos. “Good news, Bardsley family, the insurance is paying extra money for an asbestos abatement team!”
Gosh, guys, that’s just what I always wanted.
The following Saturday I went to the laundromat with ten loads of laundry and not enough quarters. The next week, I was more prepared.
Thank goodness for homeowners insurance. Our bill for this $12,000-and-counting disaster will only be the $1,000 deductible. Maybe in a few weeks, or a month, or a few months, our home will be as good as new.
But in the meantime, I can’t help thinking that if we were renters I might turn in the keys and walk away. There’s nothing like a gushing toilet to crap all over the American Dream.
Jennifer Bardsley lives in Edmonds. Her book “Genesis Girl” comes out Sept. 27. Find her online on Instagram @the_ya_gal, Twitter @jennbardsley or at teachingmybabytoread.com.
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