It was a night like most others. We sat at the dinner table, chatting about our days and about how many bites the kids had to eat before they could be excused to consume some other food product not called dinner – even if it was just a peach or a banana, as long as it wasn’t “dinner” they couldn’t wait to eat it. As usual, toward the end, I hopped up to start a bath for the kids. Earlier today, I was on a field trip with my oldest and noticed her ponytail was bumpy so I tried to fix it only to find out her hair was a little bit crunchy/crusty, then I thought “Hmmm when was the last time this kid washed her hair? Jumping in the pool, followed by an outdoor shower or swimming in the ocean doesn’t count.” I remember the days of thinking it did count, but I am a mother now. It doesn’t count. Shampoo and conditioner must be involved.
So… I started a bath.
The kids jumped in. They are just on the edge of not being able to bathe together because they spend more time yelling to me about who is doing what wrong when and why they hate each other and less time washing themselves. But sometimes a mom needs a few minutes of silence and so we are sticking with this for now. Until it backfires.
Hubby and I sat down on the couch, one room away, to watch an episode of Weeds while the kids bathed. It all seemed nice and family friendly-ish enough. As family friendly as watching Weeds gets. Then I heard one kid say “Why did you throw that in the toilet?!?!” really loud so that I would hear and he would get in trouble. While the offender stood in the doorway, naked, barely able to defend himself from his sin.
One kid had gotten out of the tub to poop. I know she will hate me one day for telling you this, but it is what it is – a bath makes the girl poop. And the boy had gotten out of the bath to get a “toy” to play with, but it turns out his “toy” was a large clump of dried playdoh. No idea where it came from or why he thought it would be a fun thing to take the time to get out of the bath, drip on the floor for and then retrieve only to return to the bath to play with. But he did. And then he threw it at his sister’s head. He missed. She ducked. It sailed over her head and landed – in the toilet – with the poop that my lovely daughter didn’t flush.
And here is where it gets ugly.
I walk into the bathroom after the sounds of what I can only imagine is melodrama – it couldn’t be that bad, right??! But indeed – there is a large- in fact, the exact size of the toilet hole size of playdoh in the toilet. And there is poop in there too. And some pee.
I stand there, ready to scream, swear, flip out and my husband would say I did all of the above but I claim he is wrong.
I reach my bare arm into the poop and pee filled toilet to try to get to the said playdoh that I have been informed is in there, right under the toilet paper. Instead of getting it, I push it down inadvertently and it is lodged. Stuck. Not moving.
I pull my arm out, covered in pee and remnants of soaking wet toilet paper, reeking of poop and realize I have to keep trying to figure this problem out myself. My husband is still laying on the couch watching Weeds afterall and one of us has to be able to tell the other one what happened while we were in the other room retrieving playdoh from the toilet. It’s not like it has “pause” or “stop”. Or does it? He just didn’t want to get involved.
So, I did the next rational thing any mother would do and I furiously marched to the kitchen, grabbed the grilling tongs and returned to the bathroom to try to retrieve the ball of rock-hard playdoh that had lodged itself in the toilet. I yanked, I pulled, I got poop on my hands, and didn’t succeed. At all. My husband laughed.
The problem is still not solved. It’s still there. He is convinced that with time and lots of soaking, the rock hard mass of playdoh will turn to mush and we’ll be able to use our toilet again. I am not so sure.
The bright side is that it was 7 o’clock and I told my kids “Get out of the bathtub, put your pajamas on and go to bed!” in my mean mommy voice (my husband called it the fear of death voice, but I disagree) and they have been asleep since 7:15.
The toilet is yet to be unclogged though.
And my hands and arms still smell like poop.
Who wants to come over for a cookout this weekend??!?!