In the House of High Strung

When Jensen was first diagnosed with Atopic Dermatitis, we learned that one of the remedies was that he must soak in a tepid bath for 20 minutes, twice a day.

After a couple of years of this, he has grown weary of the bath.  His equally weary parents have exhausted many brain cells trying to find ways to keep him amused while soaking.  Therefore, we let him take unconventional toys in with him to keep him entertained.

These toys include but are not limited to stuffed animals, Hot Wheels, Legos, and his latest favorite, the bouncy ball.  The bouncy ball is a small rubber ball that when flung against the floor, will ricochet around the room until a priceless family heirloom is broken.  Therefore, the ball has been banished to tub time only.

This morning during Jensen’s bath he sat happily playing with bouncy ball.  I was enjoying my morning vat cup of coffee.  My peace was shattered when Jensen let out a scream that caused my heart to leap into my throat, yet I managed to save the coffee.  I ran to the bathroom and noticing the opened toilet, I closed it as I entered.  Because that’s what I do.  I set things right whenever I enter a room in disarray.  Everyone who is civilized knows THAT THE TOILET SEAT SHOULD REMAIN IN A CLOSED POSITION UNLESS IN USE.

This caused Jensen to scream louder and point to the toilet.  Realizing that it must be an errant reptile of some sort that he saw climbing out of the sewer into the toilet bowl, I began screaming too.  While backing up.

At this point, a very alarmed Fiddledaddy came running into the bathroom, pushing me out of the room, and plucking his young son (who had not ceased screaming) out of the tub and to safety.

Something I had not thought to do.

Because I was so busy trying to get away from the offending toilet.  Which stood between me and the screaming child.

Fiddledaddy kept yelling to Jensen “WHAT IS IT?”  But not a word could be understood.  Because of All The Screaming.  Yet the hysterical child still pointed at the toilet.

My mind went back many years when my mother told me of a story wherein some sort of creature crept up into her toilet.  She knew this because of all the thrashing around of water and creature that she heard underneath the lid.  She did what any reasonable woman who lived alone would do.

She piled heavy objects onto the seat, and began flushing like mad.

Eventually the thrashing stopped.

She then closed and locked the bathroom door.  It was days before she dared to look into the bowl.

And there was nothing there…

Since Jensen was still screaming and pointing at the closed toilet, Fiddledaddy reached for the lid.  Since he is unafraid of amphibious creatures that lurk in sewers.

I was mentally trying to locate the baseball bat, so that I could hand it to someone else on my way out of the building.

Fiddledaddy peered into the toilet bowl.  There on the surface of the water was bouncy ball.

It seems that when young Jensen was bathing, he had gotten out of the tub at some point, used the facilities, and then forgotten to shut the lid, as he is wont to do.  And then during his bath ball play, bouncy ball entered the toilet bowl.  When I came onto the scene I shut the lid without a second thought.

All that Jensen knew was that his beloved bouncy ball had entered the toilet, he could no longer see it because of the now closed lid, and he feared someone would flush it away never to be seen again for all of eternity.

After a clorox bath, a lot of soap, and some boiling water, bouncy ball was returned to its owner.  Who then penned a song in his head about a bouncy ball swimming in the toilet.  Which he sang ad nauseum for the remainder of his reconvened bath time.

Needless to say by this time my last nerve was no where in the same zip code as I stood.  After Jensen ceased his singing, he began talking non-stop while I was applying his lotion.  I finally said, “Jensen, could you stop talking for a few minutes?”

He looked into my eyes, “No, I can’t Mom, I’m a joyful guy!”

Interestingly, my second born, Rip Van Winkle, slept through the entire ordeal a mere 15 feet away.

Would a cocktail at 9:00 in the morning really be inappropriate?