It's now 16 hours into the third day of the slow aqueous destruction of our humble abode. I'm turning into Jack Nicholson's Jack Torrance in The Shining.

I cannot build another 100 piece puppy puzzle. I can no longer play Pretty Pretty Princess. I can't do it anymore. Racing through Ponyville to Celebration Castle with My Little Pony is out of the question. OK! I admit it! I'm a terrible mother! I'm supposed to be enjoying this quality time with my 5-year old daughter, taking hot cocoa-y advantage of the fun day in the snow. Thank God she likes Charlie's Angels (the one with Cameron Diaz). I can always watch that.

You know what else? We have not heard from Mike! He's still 'stranded' at Rachel's house. Stranded my a@#! I know he can drive that truck like he means it. Remind me to call him after I post this blog entry.

Chris, Tyler's buddy, came down with strep throat. Poor, lonely Tyler had Mel, Chris' mother and my longtime friend, cook him a nice, cozy pancake breakfast (that kid always gets everything he wants) before he walked a whole mile home this morning. Mike, Chris' dad, felt sorry for Tyler and loaned him his boots for the trek home. Tyler was originally going to go over to Chris' house yesterday with his flip flops on, but I did put my foot down on that one. I convinced him to at least wear his tennis shoes. I'll be getting a call about an hour into the next snowstorm from Mike, wondering if Tyler is done with those snow boots, and could he maybe come and get them back? Yeah, that kid of mine has life so easy.

One of his other Eddie Haskell groupies came over this afternoon to get Ty. They are going snowboarding.

"Where?"

"Oh, just off their roof, mom. It'll be cool!"

"No. That's the last thing we need right now is for you to break your neck snowboarding off of someone's roof, for God's sake! The ambulance won't even be able to get here, and you'll lie there with a broken neck in two feet of snow. Just build a hill in the street or something. That'll cause enough trouble."

" They were going to do it, Mom, not me."

"Uh-huh. Be home before dark."

So at this moment, I have no idea if my eldest is a father (or if I am a grandmother), whether or not my middle son is a quadriplegic, or if my daughter is going to survive the night before I wring her neck. ( Redrum! Redrum!)

Such violence! Maybe I should try to get in to work tomorrow - that might regain some of my sanity.

Phil, heretofore known as The Watermaster, or Kevin Costner's Mariner in Waterworld, braved the fathoms of snow in our yard, removed The Cone and used the handy five-foot iron key to turn on the water for 30 minutes so that we could bathe, refill the bathtub, and fill our three camping jugs with water in order for me to be appeased with pot after pot of coffee. He always did know how to woo a girl.

In that mere 1800 seconds of lifetime, our leak soaked through two bath towels, three hand towels and four washcloths - all rags. Our insurance will pay for a hotel - if we can get to one that will take Rocky, too. I don't want to go. I like my bed. Tyler got the snow off the satellite dish, so I'm right in the middle of the third season of Magnum, PI, and besides, I've got coffee. Lots of it.

We did talk to our insurance agent. We are covered for everything inside our home, including the thickness of the foundation. Where's the leak? Beyond that realm. A mere 12 inches past the protected border of our homeland lies our defunct sprinkler system valve. One lousy foot away from having someone else pay for this mess. Phil is hoping we can at least replace the carpeting with insurance monies. I'm going for more Irish in my coffee, hoping by New Year's Eve I can still host my party. Perhaps I can distract the guests from the new hole in my blue suede wall. Canapes, anyone?

I fear not, as this is Colorado and we boast those 360 days of sunshine every year. That's where most of these photos come in; just like that, the Holiday Blizzard of 2006 . . .stopped. Tyler's home and in one piece with all limbs intact and moving. I did get in touch with Mike and he assures me I am not a grandmother. (I knew I wasn't all along. There's such a thing as poetic license, you know. And yes, Mike will kill me or die from embarassment if he knows I mentioned that online. Oops.) All is well. I'm plugged into the laptop, and Catherine is with Daddy watching Scrubs. Yes, we really are that family who lets their kids watch stuff they shouldn't. Oops. She just ordered her dinner, which I gladly made for her: leftover Canadian bacon, cottage cheese, half of a jelly sandwich and a side of leftover steamed rice from our last takeout Chinese order. It's no wonder I'm insane.

More bad news, though - my aunt fell in her home this morning and broke her hip. She and I were originally going to co-host the annual Family Gala at her home this year, but instead we'll be spending part of Christmas Eve at the McKee Medical Center in Loveland, CO. My brother, Dale, is working on alternate flight plans and never even thought about having mom drive out to the airport to pick him up. (More poetic license.) By the time he arrives she will probably be able to drive out there without any problems. She's still a with-it ol' gal for 82. And she'd absolutely love it if she knew I shared that online!

Our leaky saga continues, and I promise to share every heartwarming step with all of my closest HubFriends.

Hilarity ensues; stay tuned.

MAJOR PS of GOOD NEWS: Check out this link - yep - campus is closed tomorrow. As Tyler would say, Sizz-o-weet!