On Being a Homeowner

Last week there was a terrible, horrible, no good very bad smell eminating from my basement. At first it reminded me of rotten laundry, so I checked the laundry room. All clean. I thought "maybe it's broccoli," so I checked the fridge. Nothing but fresh organic broccoli straight from Boulder's finest. Hmmm.

Then I remembered a similar smell a few months ago, when I found dead mice in the basement window well. Armed with a flashlight, I checked all the window wells. Nothing.

Uh oh - could it be gas? I looked at the dog, and asked him. Do you have gas? No, not that kind of gas! The kind that heats our house! He just stared at me with those beautiful puppy eyes, wondering when I was going to FEED HIM. Next move: get 12 year old to march around the house with me trying to find it. We couldn't figure it out, so I naturally blamed the kids. Or the dog. We turned on all the exhaust fans in the house and called a friend who is a fireman. He recommended calling 911 and the energy company to make sure it wasn't gas.

I have to admit that it was kind of exciting to have a fire truck pull up to the house with all of its lights flashing, and then watch 4 hunky firefighters come to the door. They went to the basement with their gas- and CO-detectors, and found nothing dangerous. One suggested the smell was sewage. I nearly fainted.

About an hour later the guy from the energy company showed up (if it were gas, we might have exploded by now! I exclaimed to my son, which might have been a poor choice in exclamations...) and told me there was nothing dangerous. He recommended pouring water down the floor drain. Duh, why didn't I think of that?

Later that night I was awakened by a rotten, terrible, foul, even worse smell. I was genuinely beginning to think there was a dead body of some sort under the basement floor. I was nearing a breakdown, so the next morning I begged for help on my facebook page, and had no less than 7 offers for help. In general, my friends have some pretty impressive husbands.

I'll make this long story even longer. Dan was the first to arrive, and within FIVE MINUTES had determined that the sump pump was broken and there was some pretty rancid water sitting in the pit. We poured a little bleach in there, and the smell was gone. GONE. Internet, this was nothing short of amazing. I was seriously contemplating selling my house to get away, but who would buy a stinky house? Problem solved.

Fast forward a few days: Dan was just here again, to clean up some trees he saw growing in one of the window wells (and they do qualify as trees now, as they're getting large), and get the specs for a new sump pump. He found some roots in the sump pit, cleaned those up, and voila! the sump pump works again. It's the Little Pump That Could. It's going on 10 years old, and I love it.

Who knew all this could happen. I've been a homeowner for nearly 20 years and learn something every year. I've considered dating a handyman just for the benefits, but I've decided that it's much smarter to have friends with handy husbands. Then I get 7 offers for help instead of just one.

Bottom line: I love my friends. I hate aspen tree roots. The trees are beautiful, but what a nuisance. Who planted those things, anyway...