There’s this movie from the mid-80s with Tom Hanks and Shelley Long called The Money Pit. It was on tv a lot, I think, back in the day, because I remember seeing it several times. Now at the time, I was a big fan of Shelley Long thanks to her 1989 classic Troop Beverly Hills. (Watch it, I beg of you, if only to enjoy such classic one liners as: “He PERMED me!” and to see now-indie rock darling Jenny Lewis as a child actress). But The Money Pit never really appealed to me.
It was about a couple, see, who bought a beautiful old house that ended up being one nightmare home improvement project after another, until they were broke and on the brink of divorce. There were antics! And pratfalls! And a bathtub falling through the floor! And my 10 year old self would see these things and think: huh?
My mother, however, would see this movie and laugh and laugh and laugh. I grew up in a house that was then eighty-something years old (now well over a hundred) and I think my mom saw a little of her own house drama in that movie- the constant parade of new problems that needed fixing, the ongoing maintenance required on a house that old- and she laughed because it hit close to home.
I get it now.
We returned home yesterday morning from a Thanksgiving trip to California. We were very tired. In order not to have to sell a kidney to fly to California over the Thanksgiving weekend, we’d flown in and out of Milwaukee, and our itinerary involved a redeye flight home. This means that we left L.A. at midnight on Saturday night, flew 3.5 hours to Milwaukee where we landed at 5 in the morning, and then drove an hour and a half back to Chicago, where we promptly fell into bed. When we dragged ourselves out of bed four hours later, we went downstairs to scavenge some breakfast and check on our resident mice.
“Um, dear?” said John, looking at the dining room wall.
“Yes?” I replied.
“Was this always here?” he asked.
[INSERT SOUND OF DOOM HERE]
“Was WHAT always here?” I replied.
I walked over to where he was standing and looked up at the ceiling. There, clear as day, was a huge patch of dirty-looking water splotches dripping all the way down the wall. We peeked behind the china hutch and saw, to our horror, bloated and warped drywall, peeling paint, separated baseboards, and warped floorboards. All the hallmarks of water damage.
Spec fucking tacular.
I guess it really is true that no good deed goes unpunished. We replaced an old, decrepit, loud, inefficient humidifier 10 days ago, because it seemed like the right thing to do. Except it appears to have been incorrectly installed such that instead of dispensing humid air into our second floor atmosphere, it dispensed liquid water into our floor and walls.
Mice and a flood, all in less than a week. Don’t mind me, I’ll just be sitting here awaiting my plague of locusts.
The guy who sold us the unit is coming over this morning to look at the damage. I am ready to do battle if need be to get them not only to fix the bad install, but to repair the thousands of dollars of damage that the thing did in a week.(ONE WEEK, omg. In one week, the thing caused two floors of warped hardwoods, destroyed a whole wall of drywall, paint, baseboards, and on and on. My head spins imagining all the different contractors we’re going to need to get out here to fix it all. Can you imagine if we’d left town for a month?)
In anticipation of his visit, I woke up from an anxiety nightmare at 5am. In my dream, the drywall was so saturated that it turned into a jello-like substance that started sloughing off the walls in front of our eyes, and the repair guy told me that it was my fault because we had picked the wrong paint color. I can only hope the actual visit goes somewhat better than that.
And please, God, after this, can we just enjoy our house for a while?
Oh, man…this is so icky. I’m glad you weren’t gone any longer. And I hope you get everything fixed quickly and painlessly!
Three (no, wait, four) things:
1) I love (!) Troop Beverly Hills. And will audibly gasp when it comes on tv and I get to watch it.
2) I love Money Pit even more. How can you not like a movie where someone gets called a “duck fart”?
3) I…I can’t even imagine stomaching a redeye while pregnant. How are you not tired for the eternities?
4) The thought of all the work and contractors and whatnot that will need to happen makes me rock back and forth in a corner for you. All day. Am sitting here shaking my head.
“Was this always here?” WORDS YOU NEVER WANT TO HEAR. Unless they’re in reference to, say, a suitcase full of $100 bills.
this is HORRIFYING. gaaaaaaah. i hope you are able to lawyer your contractor into paying for EVERYTHING.
(“lawyered!”)
Oh no! Every time we find something new wrong with our house, I think of the Money Pit.
Here’s hoping you can get that contractor to pay for everything!
PLEASE tell me that your tweet about the guy saying, “We will take care of this,” means they will FIX EVERYTHING FOR FREE. This is the stuff of nightmares. You poor thing.
Well. I never said owning a 100 year old house was FUN. In all seriousness, that sucks. Big time. But I am glad they’re taking care of it for you. AS THEY SHOULD.
Also? Troop Beverly Hills is on my list of all-time favorites. I knew we were meant to be friends.
OMFG, life is so not fair. Your house is far too adorable and beautiful and SWEET to give you such heartache. Please, oh please let there be an easy solution … sigh.
Oh, MAN. That sucks! We live in an old house too- old enough that no one (even our city/county) knows for sure when it was built; sometime between 1900 and 1921. ANYWAY, I totally hear you. Luckily our previous owners did many of the expensive repairs/updates. But, STILL.
Hope this is the end of your “luck”.
And I am really hoping that your install guy is able to cover the damage.
I seriously love Troop Beverly Hills and I seriously love you for giving it its due. Also? I feel your Money Pit pain. Sometimes I think life in a wee, old farmhouse is overrated and I’d like to chuck it all for life in a brand-spanking new cookie cutter condo. With a landlord.
That really is horrifying.
And I am picturing the scene where the bathtub falls through the floor and Tom Hanks goes into that sustainnnnnnned crazy-laugh while Shelly Long looks dismayed and perplexed.
Oh, how I feel your pain. We had to come home early from our Thanksgiving trip back in 2006 because our townhouse had flooded. A toilet on the top floor got a crack in the tank and ran and ran for days, until the water shorted out the alarm system and summoned the police, fire department, and ambulance. When a neighbor came to see what all the fuss was about, he saw water coming out of our front door. (The police, et al, didn’t do anything about the water, but DID cite us for a false alarm. Um, thanks.)
We had to move out of the house for a MONTH while all of the damage was repaired. The good things were that (1) it was covered by insurance, and (2) we got to update a bunch of stuff we’d wanted to change, anyway. But still, what a hassle. What is it about Thanksgiving and water damage?
I had a washing machine flood a month ago. Don’t mean to scare you, but there has been exactly ZERO work done. Of course they took out the carpet and baseboards, and punched holes in the walls to dry everything out, but beyond that nada. Now wondering how to have Christmas without any decorations or tree. Fun!