Well, the house gave me a present this year. Not mice, like when we moved in. In early spring we had water come into the basement. So did plenty of others, which meant the waiting list to have people come out and put in drainage tile took us to yesterday. Today they're taking care of under the stairs, where... Actually let me show you under the stairs as of two days ago:
Yes, this house came with a pool! We just didn't know it until it started spilling up through the carpet. Somebody in 1980 saved themselves a couple hundred bucks by not running drainage there or in the crawlspace, so now we get to spend a few thousand fixing it. In the spring and summer, we wet-vacuumed and carried up bucket after bucket of water, until I rigged up and cat-proofed an aquarium pump with a long tube snaked into the furnace room's drain.
Today, we learned that the entire wall leading to those stairs had never been set up with drainage. That had always been a possibility, as it isn't technically an outside wall due to the odd split-level-ish main floor. But it means more work.
This all seems fitting, though. Turning 40, doing something responsible for the home, soothing cat-shaped embodiments of cowardice and anxiety (Book and Autumn, respectively) as jackhammer sounds and vibrations fill the house for two days, and paying through the nose for the privilege.
It could be far worse, after all. For what these guys are charging, you couldn't get me hunched in that crawlspace with a jackhammer. My 40-year-old back hurts just thinking about it. Or maybe that means a storm is coming; at least the rain won't end up on the floor now.
