Water, water everywhere

When my first two sons were aged two and nearly four we were living in a rented house in New York.  I woke early one morning to an eerie quiet apart from the distant sound of running water.  I leapt out of bed and rushed into the bathroom.  Both taps in the sink were full on and two face cloths had been thrown in acting as good as a plug.  Water was overflowing all over the floor.

I turned off the taps and rushed into the children's bedroom.  Empty.  I ran downstairs.  At the bottom of the stairs I could turn right into the kitchen or left into the living room.  I turned right.  My bare feet hit inches of water and I got an electric shock.  I leapt back and ran through the living room into the dining room.  Mark and Paul were sitting at the dining room table playing with the scrabble letters, seemingly totally oblivious to the water cascading through the kitchen ceiling and across the dining room floor soaking the carpet.  I was speechless and just as I began to say, 'Do you know what you have done?' there was a loud crash and the kitchen ceiling fell down. 

Joe Brennick, our landlord, was extremely understanding despite the total destruction of the whole kitchen but I am sure the children never quite understood the consequences of their actions.