When You Are An Optimist, You Look At The Toilet As Half Full

Last night, as I was doing a little work in the office, Number 4 tiptoed up behind me and then very quietly sat down next to me.

She wasn’t talking, which was unusual.

She just sat there, staring at me, and exhaling heavily.

Before I finish that story it’s important to note that we have a little bit of an issue with toilets in this house.

Our house is really old.

And so is the plumbing.

Unfortunately, many of our kids are really young.

Young kids and old plumbing a good combination do not make.

Actually young kids and any kind of plumbing are a bad combination.

Anyway, we had our first major toilet emergency less than a year after we moved into the house.

My husband went into the bathroom to investigate and did not emerge for a couple hours.

This was the second emergency.

This past summer, as I was sitting in the office, I listened to this exchange:

Husband: WHO POOPED IN HERE AND DIDN’T FLUSH IT?

Number 3: Let me see it!

Husband: WHY DID YOU LEAVE THIS POOP IN HERE?

Number 3: It wasn’t me!

Husband: NUMBER 3, WHY DID YOU POOP IN HERE AND LEAVE IT?

Number 5: Let me see!

Number 6: Let me see!

Number 4: Let me see!

Number 7: Let me see!

Husband: NUMBER 3, WHY DIDN’T YOU FLUSH YOUR POOP?

Number 3: It wasn’t me! MY POOP DOESN’T SMELL LIKE THAT!

Number 5: Let me smell it! Oh… that’s my poop.

And then, a couple months ago, the toilet in the kids’ bathroom upstairs stopped working properly.

After some more investigation,  we discovered a couple big ass Duplo blocks that had been flushed down the drain by Number 7.

Okay.

Not we.

I just sat in the office and listened while my husband did all the (literal) dirty work.

So my husband, who at this point has PTSD (Post Traumatic Shit Disorder) has done everything short of tell the kids that from now on, if they have to take a crap, they’re gonna have to do it in the backyard.

When we had to replace the toilet after Toilet Emergency Number 2 (no pun intended),

we got a new, low-flow toilet.

Which was a big mistake.

For two reasons.

First, you have to flush the toilet about 17 times to eliminate all signs of poop.

That pretty much defeats the purpose of the low-flow toilet.

And second, when Number 7 flushes toys down that toilet, there is not enough force to get the job done.

And so now something is wrong with that toilet again.

Back to Number 4 being weird in the office.

After about 14 heavy sighs, I finally asked her what was wrong.

“Can I talk to you about something?”she asked me, almost in a whisper, “But only you, ” she continued. “I just don’t feel comfortable talking to Dad about it.”

“Of course,” I said to her.

Shit.

Only you?

Doesn’t feel comfortable?

If she is like the Youngest. Kid. Ever. to get her period, I think I might die.

And I’m really not ready for the full blown sex talk, either.

“What’s the matter?” I asked her.

“Well….

…uummmmm…”

“It’s okay,” I told her. “You can talk to me about anything.”

“Well…

…I took a really big poop in the downstairs toilet. Like. REALLY. BIG. And now it’s all clogged up. And I’m afraid to tell Daddy.”

Oh.

Phhhhheeeeeeeeee-yew.

I just laughed.

“Why are you laughing?” she asked.

“No reason,” I told her. “Just remember to use the upstairs toilet from now on.”

Thank God.

I didn’t have to find the tampons.

Just the plunger.

And there is my gratitude for the day.

I never thought I’d be happy to hear about a clogged up toilet.

Until yesterday.

Look cute while you unclog the toilets. Click here.