Adios Amigo

Back from Mexico and the second that we landed in Houston, reality hit us like a bucket of ice cold water. Both of our iPhones lit up like Christmas trees with text messages, voicemail and email that would have us buried for a week. One message, from our tenant made me want to turn around and run screaming back into the jet.

Long story short:
Big bad storm at Easter.
Hail.
Tenant calls with leak in foyer.
We think roof damage. Insurance adjuster claims "fluke".
More foul weather.
Tenant calls to say leak has progressed from intermittent drip to steady flow.
Purchase bottle of rum.
Roofing companies called.
New roof needed.
Adjuster is an asshole. Please send another.
New adjuster agrees we have serious problem. Issues first cheque. Skies part, sun shines and angels sing. But contractor doesn't show up.
Contractor doesn't start for ten weeks as he experiences numerous personal "emergencies".
Call doctor for valium prescription.
Tenant asks to move rental due date to the 10th of month. Agree because they've been so patient.
Contractor finally starts the job on a clear Sunday morning, nearly three months after leak was first detected.
Monday, with roof tiles off and only paper for cover, torrential rain pours down.
More damage.
Buy bigger bottle of rum. Contemplate mainlining it through intravenous drip.
Roof gets on house. Whew. Relief. Pay contractor balance for roof.
Tenant calls.
Water on the floor of the bedroom beside the bathroom.
What?
Fuck.
Contractor, who is nice man but one rung shy on the ladder of life, cuts holes in the walls to find source of leak. To no avail.
"Call a plumber", I say through mouthful of opiates.
Plumber called. Comes right over.
No worries, simple fix. Ice maker hose from fridge. Bada bing, bada boom, problem solved.
Wet carpet, wet pad, spotty mould.
Big, big fans and bleach.
Contractor agrees to be back Monday to begin interior repairs.
We fly to Mexico.
Seven glorious days lapping up the sun.
We arrive back in Houston to find our tenant has blown up our phones.
CONTRACTOR DIDN'T SHOW.
Apparently, some sort of personal emergency. Feel certain that if I see him, there most definitely could be an emergency situation.
We decide to fire him.
And order a cocktail with dinner between flights.
Holiday isn't officially over yet damnit.
Get home to find children happy, healthy and safe but the house a freaking wreck.
Look at each other and contemplate church on Sunday even though we are agnostic.
Collapse into bed instead.
Wake up Saturday morning and clean. Oh joy.
Call another contractor out on a Saturday afternoon, get a bid, agree on a start date and voilà, we are back in the hunt for landlord of the year award.

So, besides the pleasure of tucking my kids in the past couple of nights, being home has been like a kick in the teeth. Sort of.

Our bed, with crisp, fresh sheets, was just a hair shy of nirvana. And, when we closed our eyes, we could still feel the sun on our faces, taste the salt in the air and hear the ocean waves as they lapped at the pier.

In spite of the absence of ruby red shoes, there is still no place like home.