Who said that jokes were only for April Fool's Day?
On Wednesday I finally got around to getting the upstairs shower fixed, since the leak had gotten so bad (not slowly better as I had hoped - dang it) that you could actually hear the water running downstairs. 60 bucks later, problem fixed.
Not even 3 hours go by, and Jordan comes in from the garage saying that he heard "the sound of water running" outside. Boy did he ever. It seems that this guywas emptying his contents all over the garage floor. 18 years old...I guess that's mature enough to fly the coop.
So we ( and by "we" I mean plumber #2 that got called out ) sent him to the alley to be with the fire ants that I managed to step on while getting a nice curb portrait. Next time, I'll make it a point to put on shoes first.
But we have a new water heater.
Thank goodness for home warranties.
And for savings accounts that get drained to pay for what they don't cover.
Enough excitement to last me awhile. But alas, the night was still young.
With all the work going on, the back gate had to be unlocked. Little did I know that it never got re-locked. A small detail that didn't escape our Brendan. A detail that, to him, seemed an open invitation...
Let me first say that Brendan is well known for escaping the house. It began in back in Utah, starting slowly, then turning into an almost daily occurence. He'd slip out and run down the street, bolting into people's homes, strangers or not - it didn't matter to him. If you left your door unlocked, you were fair game.
He'd play with their toys, move their Christmas packages from their doorsteps to their beds (sorry Tracy), and poop on the new neighbors white carpet basement floor (I'm still REALLY sorry about that Kim). I even got a call early one morning from a guy from church on his cell phone saying that he had spotted Brendan (wearin' nothing but underwear) chasing some deer down the main road (next time I'll take the extra 30 seconds to put on a bra before attempting to catch up to him - you don't KNOW how sorry I am about that Jared).
Needless to say, we installed locks. LOTS OF LOCKS.
Most people use them to keep people out. Ours were to keep an adventurous 8 year old in.
Once we moved to Texas, the behavior stopped immediately. It's been 1 1/2 years, and we've been relatively lucky. Until yesterday.
In the time it took me to heat up a cinnamon roll, put it on a napkin, and walk out of the kitchen to give it to him, he was gone. And the back gate was open.
After a 10 minute search, I called police. I couldn't find him, and I didn't know if somebody else had. He could've walked into anyone's house. Or garage. Or who know's what. And he had no way of telling them who he was, where he lived, or that his family was looking for him. Please God, let somebody call and say that they've got him.
Within minutes we had 10 officers scouring the neighborhood, along with a bunch of people from church (thanks for making those calls for me Elizabeth!).
A half hour goes by. Then an hour. The sun is beginning to set. Almost two hours later, and we get a call from some church members saying that they've found him here:
One mile (2??) away, not to mention across 4 lanes of busy traffic.
There he was, barefoot, with an onion in a produce bag trying to scan it in the self checkout lane. Completely oblivious to everyone around him. No idea that his mother was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. No idea that he was doing anything wrong. No idea what all the fuss was about.
In fact, the first thing he said when he saw me was "Feet are dirty. Feet got owies."
Yeah, I bet. Next time you might want to put some shoes on first, buddy. Those fire ants are vicious.