My morning began as I stood bunion deep in overflowing toilet water. Flannel pajama clad, plunger in hand, I watched as the water kept rising, then crested, and finally came cascading over the rim onto the cheap linoleum.
I had two choices to make in a hurry. (Well, three if you count crying like a little girl.) Turn the water off at the valve, or go run for beach towels in the next room.
I did neither.
I opted to close the door, thusly trapping myself inside the bathroom with the rising water.
Odd choice, you might say.
Yes, but I didn’t want Jensen to hear the catastrophe brewing the bathroom. I wanted him to continue eating his Cheerios in peace. In the other room. Far far away from the bathroom.
Because my son, as I’ve mentioned 5 or 50 times, is obsessed with toilets.
He spends a good deal of his day in the bathroom, quizzing me about the intricacies of indoor plumbing. And lately, the question most asked has been, “What happens in case the water comes out?” To which I reply, “It never will.” Yet he presses, “But, what happens in case?”
“Jensen, mommy knows just what to do, and I assure you that will never happen.” Pride generally goes before the fall.
It is his dream of dreams that the toilet should overflow. Just think of all the water games.
I’ve been fishing him out of the toilet ever since he could crawl. Finally I installed a baby-proof doorknob cover. Which worked for a few years. But he recently discovered that he could remove it from the door and what luck! It floats!
I’ve even threatened to have a potty theme in honor of his 4th birthday. But just planning it in my head gave me enough joy.
Instead he wants to spend his special day at Disney World, in the company of my future daughter-in-law, Minnie Mouse.
After I closed the bathroom door, and soundproofed it with a couple of bathtowels, I turned off the water at the source. I’ve never turned that knob before, and I fully expected it to come off in my hand while water shot out of the wall.
Because it was shaping up to be that kind of day.
Thankfully the flow stopped, and by this time the toilet water had saturated my sleeping socks and was creeping up my flannel pajamas.
I tiptoed to the bathroom door, and like a secret agent, I made sure the coast was clear. The Cheerios were still holding Junior’s attention. I knew this because I could hear the sisters shrieking when he flicked one at them.
Stealthily, I crept down the hall, with my back against the wall, and slipped into the laundry room, unnoticed. Gathering all the beach towels we own, I retraced my soggy steps and retreated back into hell the bathroom.
After laying down a carpet of towels, I began plunging again. As though my very life depended on success.
And btw, the plunger had been extracted earlier from the master bath by hiding it underneath my pajamas.
No one noticed I was extra lumpy. Or if they did, they kept it to themselves.
After working up a pretty good sweat, I finally achieved success, and the toilet was back in working order. I mopped up the mess with the towels and then deposited them directly into the washing machine. With more than the recommended amount of Tide with Bleaching Action.
Then I threw away my socks and boiled my feet.
I sneaked into the kitchen to get the mop and my trusty bottle of bleach and water. If the Junior had seen the mop, he would have known something was dreadfully wrong.
As the mop only makes a guest appearance during emergencies.
Again, I stuffed the mop and cleaners up under my flannels and returned to the scene of the crime. To erase all traces of evidence. (Not at all unlike the way that Benjamin Linus cleaned up after he murdered John Locke, for you my fellow Losties.)
After I finished, had everything put away, and opened the door to vent, Jensen finally sauntered by.
Sensing something was amiss, he sniffed the air. He is in possession of heightened olfactory senses.
Accusingly he asked “MOMMY! Did you just cwean my bathwoom?” He likes to be present during any and all activities associated with his bathroom.
“Why yes son, I did. In fact you could eat of the fl…um, la la la, never mind what mommy just said.” I momentarily lost my mind, forgetting that this is the child who has licked the toilet seat.
Even in the face of sure and sudden danger, I didn’t crack under the intense pressure. I am super-mommy.
Stay tuned next week when I attempt to dislodge a Barbie head from the jaws of the vacuum. It will be riveting.