Dry Spell: Waiting for Water

A Late Morning Elsewhere

We woke up late in another house—my dad’s—still here because of the ongoing water interruption. What was supposed to be a short stay has stretched into days. We try to move quietly, careful not to disrupt my parents’ peaceful routine. Camping in their shed for two nights already feels like too much, and it’s far from what we expected when the water first stopped flowing.

I contacted our water service provider, Richli, and received a long response explaining repiping work, airlocks, and the possibility that full water pressure could take days to weeks. It was one of the most polished responses I’ve ever received from a service company. But no matter how well-written, words don’t replace water—and water is something a family can’t live without for weeks.

Living on Borrowed Water

The waiting wears you down slowly. Our neighbors shared that they wake up at dawn just to collect enough water for the day, even then with very low pressure. Hearing that made everything feel heavier. I started thinking about survival solutions—installing a water tank system, for instance—just to get us through these dry days. I even read about household water storage systems to understand if it’s something we should prepare for long-term.

But the uncertainty stops me. How do you test plumbing when there’s no water to test it with? Everything feels like a gamble.

Keeping Our Daily Rhythm

Even in displacement, our family tries to keep some form of routine. Aia still goes to school in the morning. I keep forgetting that we need to look for her lost school ID—another small responsibility slipping through the cracks as bigger concerns pile up.

Meals are adjusted, simplified. Nina didn’t feed very well earlier in the day, but dinner went better. Josh was surprisingly calm and not fussy at all, while Nina seemed to release all the tension for both of them. My husband balanced his work while slowly transferring clothes and essentials from our house to my parents’. Cha helped us with laundry, and that simple act felt like such a gift.

These small, repeated actions—school, meals, laundry—form our fragile sense of normal. I’ve come to appreciate how family bedtime routines and daily rhythms anchor children, even when the house itself feels temporary.

Thinking Ahead, Quietly

I don’t know how long we’ll be staying here. I still hold onto hope that the water will return very soon. I keep imagining the day I can finally clean our dusty house and restore order. When that day comes, we’ll need a better system—something more resilient. I’ve been reading emergency water preparedness tips and checking local water service advisories, not out of panic, but preparation.

This interruption is teaching us that planning isn’t a luxury—it’s part of caring for a family.

Ending the Day Together

No matter how scattered the day feels, we always try to end it the same way—with Hallow Time. This evening routine has become our anchor. The kids settle, the noise softens, and the house—borrowed as it is—feels peaceful again. Faith doesn’t arrive as a sermon here; it arrives as consistency.

I managed to sleep in the afternoon, so I’m writing this late at night once again, recording another chapter of our family’s adventures. We’re tired. We’re still waiting. But our routine—simple, imperfect, faithful—carried us through the day.