If you’ve never been awaken at 4:30 in the morning, on Thanksgiving, by your 16-year-old daughter who is frantically trying to let you know that the floor of your home is covered in about an inch of water, then I have to tell you … you’re not missing much.

It’s a highly overrated experience.

It happened to me yesterday. Something strange occurred with one of our toilets and it decided, quite suddenly, to begin leaking all over the place. It didn’t leak anything “bad,” if you know what I mean, and I think you do, because it’s a toilet and we all know what’s going on there.

But it sure leaked water. A lot of water. Like, so much water that I no longer consider it a perk to live near the coast - nor do I want to be near any large body of liquid anywhere ever.

My husband, two daughters and my oldest daughter’s boyfriend began an emergency cleanup process of vacuuming, steam cleaning, bailing and sponging everything and anything we could to get it dry.

For several hours, we scooped, sloshed and squished. We wiped, blotted and mopped. We moved that and tossed those and stuck several things in the washing machine.

We also did a lot of splashing - but not, like, in a fun way.

Before long, the saturated catastrophe had been reduced to a damp mess. We’d formed a system of the guys using the steam cleaner and hauling and dumping the water and the girls scooping the excess and wiping the residual moisture.

I am not good with situations like these. I don’t mind fixing them. I don’t mind the work or what it takes to get the problem solved. What I do mind is the injustice of the situation to begin with. I get mad at the problem. Yesterday, as the sun was coming up on Thanksgiving, I was mad at the water. Mad at the toilet. Mad at the carpet and the sopping towels. Mad at my wet feet. Just plain mad.

My family, on the other hand, is totally the opposite. In times of crisis, my husband and daughters crack jokes, make up silly songs and generally make the entire predicament one that is entertaining and enjoyable.

Their joy starts to come after me. It pokes me in the eye, kicks me in the shin or smacks me upside the head until I can’t ignore it anymore. Pretty soon, I’m making jokes despite the fact that my feet make a squishy sound when I walk in my bedroom.

Then, six months later, we’ll be having dinner together and one of my girls will say “Remember the time the house flooded? Wasn’t that fun?”

And we’ll remember that it was.

Thanksgiving 2008 will always be the year of the great flood - the waters rose, the carpets became soaked and many a towel was used.

But it’s also the year I realized my family has always made the best out of the worst - something I was extra thankful for this Thanksgiving.

That and learning that it’s true what they say about blessings. They really do come in disguise.

Like, say, a leaky toilet.

Timmi Toler is city editor of The Daily News who hopes to not have to splash around in anything for a good, long time. Contact her at 910-219-8458 or ttoler@freedomenc.com.