Guess Who's Peeing in Her *Own* Potty Tonight?

Yep, me. Thank you Jesus.

The clog that sent us straight to the nearest Sheraton was 10 ft from the house (wow - carpenter ants and roots in my drain line - Ancient Oak Tree, you're the gift that keeps on giving!) and easily dispatched this morning. A test load of laundry and a few toilet flushes seem to have been dispatched equally effectively, so looks like we're back in business.

(Not out of the woods yet, though. The cleaner-outer guy said there's something "significant" at the end of the pipe but, since a similar situation and someone saying "psshht, that's just a big tree root" led to a house blowing up last month, he's being extra cautious and we're going to have the gas company confirm their presence [or lack thereof] in the vicinity before we determine our final course of action.)

And we're back in business none too soon - because, really, who doesn't want to finish unpacking and cleaning a kitchen and scrubbing floors and catching up on mountains of laundry in an un-air-conditioned house in the middle of a heat wave (complete with severe heat warnings, huzzah!)??

Actually, I want to - I am so sick of not having a place to call my own that at this point a working toilet, no imminent gas line ruptures, and a third bottle of PineSol are pretty much all I need to make me a happy camper.

(Cross fingers for a few emergency-service-call-free days - y'all might have After pics by the weekend!)