Drip Drop

There's something so innately soothing about rain. The drip, drip, drip, pitter, patter, pit. Makes you just want to curl up with some hot cider and a good book. Even a big storm, when it ferociously whips against your windows with gale forces bringing down the last vestiges of leaves, can somehow be calming. 

Except when it is drip, drip, dripping inside your house at 3 am. That is a whole lot less soothing. 

Last night we were awakened by my fussy child who's paci had fallen out. (Yeah, I know, she should give up the paci, but that's the last thing I want to deal with right now.) I stumbled to the crib, cram the bink in and stumble back to bed. 

Except I noticed a steady stream of drips onto the hall floor. This is made even worse by the fact that there should not ever be water coming down from above there. After stumbling up to the attic, we (mostly Andy, I can't actually see at night, am blind as a bat) discovered some serious holes in the roof tarps. Like, not-joking-around-about-rain-coming-in kind of holes. Added to which was the serious wind and excessive pouring down buckets of rain. 

The good news, which was reported to me after said husband climbed back into bed, is that the skylight already installed was dry as a bone. Phew. 

During breaks in the drips today he is going to try to get as much put up as possible. Only, of the special order windows for the other holes, we're still missing one. Sigh.

We would try to do this during the rainiest time of the year so far, wouldn't we?