Jensen’s lifelong dream nearly came true.
As you well know, I have been writing about Jensen’s obsession with the toilet ad nauseum. For many years. And as much as I’d love to accommodate him in his desire to actually see a toilet overflow, I’m afraid that I have shield him from such a catastrophe.
For his own good.
I cannot let the child frequent the bathroom on his own accord because, while he no longer actually licks the toilet seat, he is apt to have his hands all over the inside and outside of the bowl. If I’d let him. And should he be in the midst of an overflow, he would be like a little boy drawn to a mud puddle.
Now remember, he has some pretty severe issues with atopic dermatitis and if he has an open sore on his hand and touches something that is infested with, say, a lot of germs, well you get the sordid picture.
Threats don’t work with him on this matter. Threats work just GREAT on other issues, like not rendering himself naked in public, using the business end of the bat on a hapless sister, etc. But on toilet issues, he is inexplicably drawn to trouble and cannot help himself.
The other day, I noticed that the master bathroom toilet was clogged. Stealthily, I crept out to the garage to procure the Master Plumber’s Helper. This thing is the granddaddy of all plungers. On my way back in, I hid the plunger under my t-shirt as I crept by the table where Jensen was set up drawing Mario figures. This was no easy feat since the plunger is nearly as big as I am.
A sister spotted me and before she could narc me out, I gave her the stink eye. From experience, she knows that if a word were to be uttered, she would be in timeout until she’s 30.
I closed the master bedroom door and then closed the actual bathroom door. And locked it. For good measure, I even closed the door which houses the toilet. Visualize Maxwell Smart. Had I been thinking clearly, I would have flipped on the exhaust fan to muffle the sounds of toilet plunging.
Five seconds into Operation Toilet Plunge, I heard Jensen breathing outside of the outer bathroom door. WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THERE, MOMMY? IS THE TOILET CLOGGED UP?
Seriously, how is that the boy cannot hear clear instructions to clean up his room while I’m standing 4 inches from his nose, yet he can hear the sounds of toilet plunging from behind 3 closed doors while he’s in another part of the house?
When I didn’t answer immediately, trying to buy myself a little time, he began throwing himself at the door. LET ME IN MOMMY! I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING IN THERE! I could tell from the sounds outside of the french doors that he had both hands on the knob and was bracing himself with one foot on the door, trying to manhandle it into the open position. The entire house shook.
If he could have squeezed himself underneath the door crack, he would have. I’m pretty sure he tried.
When I successfully freed the drain I calmly opened all of the doors. What? I was met with an angry and red faced little boy who accusingly informed me that he was to be alerted next time there was a toilet malfunction. So that he could bear witness.
No way pal.
Because I’m pretty sure that not even my industrial sized toilet plunger could extricate a 6 year old boy’s head as he tries to get a better look at what an actual toilet overflowing looks like.
If it weren’t for our intrepid homeowners association, I’d seriously be looking into getting an outhouse.