Inanimate: (adj.) not alive, especially not in the manner of humans and animals.
So, about that whole 'running out of gas in my own driveway' thing I told you about in my last post...
My driveway is like 1/8 of a mile long. Or 1/3. I'm not good at math, so just imagine a long driveway here. I drive down it and up it three times every morning, since I have one kid in elementary school, one kid in middle school and two kids in high school. Three schools, three busses, three treks down the driveway for me. Monday I did this on auto-pilot like I do every other day, then came back to the house to log in to work. After husband woke up and had some coffee so he could become a human again, he left to run an errand but instead of driving away like I expected him to I saw him trudging back to the house with a lovingly resigned look on his face, which I was about to discover stemmed from the fact that I am not a master of the obvious and he thought I had once again missed a Really Big Thing. He asked if the Yukon was running ok when I took the kids to the bus stop. I thought he was referring to the fact that the truck has barely started for about six months until the battery finally crapped out and we had to replace it a couple weeks ago, so I told him it started up just fine, no worries. He looked at me and said, "Babe, are you sure? Like are you really sure it was running and driving ok?" I confirmed once again that it was in fact running wonderfully and he just shook his head and told me I should come outside, where I immediately saw that the back right tire was so flat that the truck was essentially just sitting directly on the rim. There is no way I could have driven on that and not noticed it, so I squatted down to see what the issue was and saw an ENORMOUS nail sticking out of the tire all willy nilly. All I could think was, really? Really?? I have seriously managed to not only run out of gas in my own driveway but also to catch a flat there too?
My husband was like, well, no big deal. Since there doesn't happen to be a spare tire on the Yukon at the moment he said he would just pull the one off of his truck and use it. I don't know if newer cars have this but our vehicles are both 16 years old so there's this little lockbox on the back bumper next to the license plate into which you insert the car key to release the lock on the spare tire. He immediately realized that this plan wouldn't work because the bumper on his truck wasn't the original bumper so the key he had didn't work and the next thing I know he's out there beating the life out of his bumper and that lock (and his poor hands) with a rubber sledgehammer thingy, to no avail. My poor Yukon is still sitting outside looking like it has a bad set of hydraulics on it, just waiting for a day when our schedules actually coordinate enough to allow us to get a new tire.
That's not even the real story here. That was just an odd follow up to the previous post that I totally wasn't expecting.
The real story is the loud noise I heard as I sat at my desk working on Tuesday. It was super windy out so I just thought something had gotten knocked over outside or the porch swing had bumped into the side of the house as it tends to do when the wind is overzealous. Probably 45 minutes later the husband went to get some water and noticed that there was no water pressure, so I called the water company to see if they knew what was up and they came out to investigate and said sorry y'all, unfortunately this issue is on your end, not ours. Heaving many sighs and muttering even more expletives, my husband suited up in this awesome white one-piece outfit thing that he got from Wal-Mart that made him look strangely like an Elvis impersonator and went crawling around under the house, a feat I will never ever be able to accomplish because spiders, and he discovered that the loud noise I heard was the water line to an outside spigot bursting and water was spewing everywhere. Definitely not worst case scenario like I was so worried it would be, so we just asked the water guy to shut our water off until hubby could fix it the next day.
Operation Fix The Water Line: I was instructed to stand outside the house next to one of the vents closest to the line that was broken so that my husband could shout out the plumbing supplies he would need to fix the issue and I could write them down so he didn't forget anything. I begrudgingly paused my episode of Chopped and went outside like a dutiful wife to assist him. He started yelling out things such as "3/4 to 1/2 inch T!" and "3/4 inch CPVC!" and "two 3/4 inch female to female couplers!" (which naturally caused me to summon my inner Beavis and Butthead and giggle 'huh huh, female to female couplers, huh huh'), all the while I'm yelling back to confirm what he said and asking him how it's going, just trying to be supportive and sound like I knew what I was talking about. The horse next door neighed really loud and I looked over at him and realized all at once how incredibly strange I must have looked to my neighbors at that moment - there I am, standing outside in my pajamas yelling at the side of my house, nodding emphatically and taking copious notes of whatever it was the house was saying to me. Now they probably think I talk to inanimate objects and as much as it pains me to admit, they're not entirely mistaken about that. It's just not normally the outside wall of a house that I choose to talk to.
After having to venture back outside several more times to talk much more covertly with the hubs, the pipe was magically fixed, the water was turned back on and my spawn returned home from school quite relieved to actually be able to relieve themselves in a civilized manner, and that's all I have to say about that.