It's a snow day. A really big one. How can I tell? Well, by looking outside, for one, and dreading the forecasted 12 to 12 million inches of blinding snow we are going to get. But the better way to tell is that Jefferson County Schools are closed. I grew up in Jeffco. We had one snow day in all my K-12 experience. I remember it very well - my buddies and I helped the teachers maneuver their cars out of the Pomona High School parking lot, because school didn't close until 2:00 pm (the final bell was at 2:35). A preemptive measure such as this indicated the storm is sure to be of epic proportions.

So here I sit, watching Tyler play Call of Duty on his Xbox 360. He's behind the sight of an M1 Garand shooting anything that moves. He's programmed the soundtrack - Red Hot Chili Peppers are singing Snow. Rather apropos, I think. The effect of my soldier/son stalking the ruins of a mansion in Chambois, France, while listening to music I know and enjoy is a little Platoon-esque. Oliver Stone would be proud.

I called in to work today - turns out it's a good thing. Mike informs me that his coworker at ESPN Zone took the light rail in to work; my regular commute. The rails were icy enough that the train just kept sliding right on past the stop at Englewood station. Aaah, I'll take another sip of my coffee over that news.

I glance over to the right of the TV and the stress level wrenches a knot in my gut. I see the shop vac. It's never good news if we've got the shop vac out of hiding. The last time I used it was to clean out the fireplace ashes last summer. Remember that.

Last night when I got home, I kicked off my shoes and went downstairs to the TV room to hang with the family. At the bottom of the stairs, I heard "squish" and noticed my socks were soaked. This wet carpet covered an area of about three feet by five feet. (I'd like to note that the male relatives with whom I live did not notice the gushing moisture emanating from the carpet. If they did, they felt this to be normal, which may be of higher concern than the aforementioned omission of conscious thought.) Phil and I moved the couch so that we could have room to assess the damage, and save the couch.

It's the dog's couch, and he freaked out. Have you ever had a 97-pound Labrador look you in the eye as if to plead, "Why? What did I do? I thought you loved me?" and then pace in a large circular motion right in the way of what you're trying to accomplish while your elder children just sat there and watched TV and your youngest child began to make suggestions as to why there was a leak? No? I'll summarize:

Catherine's five-year-old fears come to light in the form of suggestions as to the cause of the leak. She's convinced either bugs got into the pipes, the bad guys did it, or Mike and Tyler broke a rule somehow. She fixates on that last one, revealing more information of the boys' recent track records than they bargained for hearing. The largest son's girlfriend (God, I love her) kicks the big boy and says, "Go help your mother!" (Rock on, Rachel!) I go and get old towels, Phil shuts off the main valve and Phil and Mike blot up a good portion of the water. We turn a fan on it all night.

This morning, as always, I'm the first one up. I had planned on going in to work; Phil was going to work from home to meet the plumber. I went downstairs to turn on the valve so that I could shower. The carpet had standing water on it. Not much, but the leak was most certainly worse than last night. Thewetness in the basement has definitely expanded. After swearing profusely, I showered, dressed, and realized the leak had to be coming from somewhere between the house and the street. This was getting more expensive by the minute.

Letting the dog out with me to patrol the yard while I fetched the paper, I decided to check the front yard hose spigot. @#$%&*! There was a lake about an inch deep and three feet across by the side of the porch. No hoses, no burst pipes, just an ancient, dead sprinkler system that I shut off about 10 years ago. Ours is one of those systems that has the five-foot iron key that is lowered into a PVC pipe to access the on/off valve. Plumbers don't fix that. That's when I decided to call in to work. Visions of one of the son's college funds are flying into the wrong pocket at this moment. I'm thinking back hoe, here.

Meanwhile, Phil is up and ready to run the shop vac. He dutifully empties the ashes, sets up the vacand gets ready to suck up the water.

"Honey? Where's the nozzle?"

"I don't know"

"Never mind - I accidentally threw it out with the ashes. Got it!"

After he got a full bucket, he came upstairs to report.

"Well, did you know the shop vac can blow as well as suck?"

"Yes - why?"

"Well, it seems the first time I hooked it up I had it set to blow."

"You didn't . . ."

"Yep, I did. "

"So now there's wet soot on the carpet downstairs?"

"Uh-huh."

Miraculously, I honestly didn't care. At least we don't have to tear the wall down. Did I mention we had the TV room professionally painted with a sueding technique? That was expensive, too.

Phil called Denver Water, who directed us to Platte Canyon, who braved the storm to confirm our suspicions and show us how our handy five-foot iron key can be used to shut off the main valve under the meter in our yard. Have you ever learned how to shut off your water in a blowing snow storm? No? I'll summarize:

"You see that wire there? Don't disturb that at all - you'll get a bill for $325 from Denver Water. You see that little red triangle on the gauge? See how it's spinning? That means you've got major flow happening," quoth the Platte Canyon gentleman.

He shut off our water, showed us how to turn it back on if we needed, and then dealt the final blow. He told us we'd have to cut a hole in our wall to make sure the copper pipe isn't leaking (@#$%@#$! Not the wall!) and call an excavating company to dig up our yard. He was a great guy, and of all the days to be on call - we thank him.

We've left messages all over. It's 9:20 in the morning and no one wants to come back hoe our yard today. I really can't blame them, with 12 million inches of snow forecast to fall.

The game is now Tony Hawk and we're listening to Aerosmith's Don't Want to Miss a Thing. It's five days before Christmas. All the gifts are ready. All we have to do now is dig a gigantic hole in our yard in a blizzard and fix a leak. I think high water is hell. I'll keep you posted.

The dog has recovered from the stress of the couch relocation, and I enjoyed some rare free time to put hot rollers in my hair. I've wanted to test this style option to see if I could do this on a weekday before going to work. I can't; it takes too much time. Phil has spent his free time asking Mike and Tyler when they're moving out. He's off their backs now; he's working. Unfortunately, our home office is adjacent to the heater in our leaking basement, so at least he's taking out his frustration with the leak on the noise from the heater fan, which overwhelmsthe roomwhen he's trying to use the phone. He'll be better in about two hours. I told him to go put some whiskey in his coffee.

Did you ever notice how much an Xbox 360 sounds like running water when it's being used? Maybe I should put a little Irish in my own coffee this morning.

Editor's note: Click here to read the sequel to this blog, Come Hell or High Water, Part II.