The Night my Husband was Right

March 23, 2013

::Law and Order Voice:: This is a true story. The names have not been changed because nobody got murdered or hurt; victimized, maybe.

Oh what a night…. Last night to be exact.

It all started when I finally got all the kids to sleep. It was 10:30 pm, and I got this crazy notion that I could shower, wash my hair, and unwind a little, before bundling into bed early.

I get my comfy pjs ready and undo my hair, when my husband says,”The toilet’s not flushing.”

“What? Did you try the plunger.”


“Let me try,” I say, because you know how hard it is to use a plunger. It requires speed, strength, and just the right angle to pop a clogged drain.

After SEVERAL strenuous attempts, I can confirm “There’s definitely something wrong. I’m gonna try to flush it again.” The water is going nowhere, well, except maybe a little. “Hmmm, It seems to be gurgling up into the big tub.”

“What?!? Did I hear you just try to flush the toilet again?”

“Knowing” this was just a little scare and that the water would go down on its own, I pretend not to hear him and jump in the shower; however, fearing the worst, I proceed to wash my hair as quickly and terribly as ever before. In no time, I am standing in an inch and a half of bubbly backed up water; it’s clean if there’s soap in it, right?

My husband, who had earlier warned me not to try to flush the toilet since it hadn’t been working, stares at me through the shower door. His bedroom eyes say,”This is your fault,” before he leaves the bathroom to call miami-dade water and sewer.

I get out of the shower. The tub continues to fill, and I ponder a bath, but decide I should probably clean up the mess first, or at least contain it.

To my wonderful surprise, water starts to leak from the bidet’s pipes, but just slowly enough for me to run down the hall to the linen closet.

As I start to build a towel fortress to contain the advancing smelly sewage, I realize I am quickly depleting my resources. I make sure not to use the towel we bought on our honeymoon, even though it is tattered along one edge & has a hole in it- dryer must be a smoker.

Suddenly, “The other bathrooms!”

I walk quickly, but calmly to my daughter’s bathroom, hoping my composed demeanor will strike fear into any mischievous pipes. But my tactics fail, and there is already a frightful puddle gaining on the door, almost horror-movie-like, i.e. the blob.

Another mini-fortress is built; I lose several good beach towels in this battle.
The girl’s shower is also making a good effort to creep towards the brim in an attempt to overflow and knock down my stronghold.

THANKFULLY, my son’s bathroom is behaving. No leaking pipes, although the bathtub is half full, or half empty… At this point I am taking whatever positive angle I can find.

The guest bathroom presents no problems either.

11:12 pm – MDWSD was OTW. Acronyms I am glad to hear. But it could be an hour or two of smelling the sweet aroma that is permeating the bedrooms and hallways.

After shutting off all the valves, I do suicides down the hall between the 3 bathrooms to make sure everything stays under control until the sewer gods arrive.

The towels darken as they soak up the pungent waters.

12:10 am – Normally, I would complain when a noisy engine revs out-front, but tonight it is the sound of music. “The sewers are aliiiive…”

I demurely peek through the family room curtains and watch two men uncover a manhole in the street near my front gate.

The truck beeps as they reposition it near the hole.

I run to my bathroom and stare at the murky water in the tub, willing it to go down. Hours pass… Okay it was just minutes, but long eternal minutes.

The truck starts pumping sewage from the line. “We hope this will clear the problem,” they tell my husband.

“Hope?” We think, looking at each other.

I return to our bathroom.

“Nothing. Is. Happening.” I think, downtrodden. I close my eyes and realize my new house will be inundated by stink dirty water; the smell will never come out, even after we mop the floor a thousand times, and tear out the ruined, rotting baseboards.

“That’s it. We are going to have to move! We just got this house. I just unpacked more boxes, and hung up several frames. I’m having a party here on Sunday. Omg! I’m having a PARTY. HERE. in 3 days!”

I close my eyes. My train of thought is spiraling dramatically, when suddenly, a loud slurping sound.

The water in the tub and shower is receding.

Hallelujah! Praise Jesus! ::insert happy dance here::

To quote a friend, “Longer story short,” It worked. They unclogged the pipes, and the water returned to the rightful home of the sewer creatures, who thankfully did not make an appearance in this story.

I’ll leave out the part where I clean up the two bathrooms for the next hour or so. I was happy to do it, and afterwards…

I took a nice, hot relaxing bath. I snuggled into some fresh pajamas, and crept into bed at 1:30am.

I slept soundly for about 2 hours, until my youngest woke up crying with a stomachache; more plumbing issues. O_O but that’s a story for another day.

The Loo

April 7, 2013

The kids are asleep. I often begin this way because once you become a parent most of your time revolves around work or your kids; any free time is precious and worth talking about, hence the interesting story that follows.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” I tell my husband.

As I walk down the hallway to my bedroom, I know I’m going to enjoy every quiet, steaming hot moment; I’m referring solely to the temperature and not the “heat of the moment” of my nakedness. I’ve birthed three children, there’s nothing “hot” about this scene. Although my husband will say otherwise, it has become painfully evident that he is legally blind. I could probably get one of those handicap signs… Nope, too lazy. I never got the “Stroller Parking” permit either. Then again, I had a BABY, I didn’t lose a limb.

“I’m gonna take a shower”, I had said, which, come on ladies, we all know it’s really code for I’m going to Sh… Shave, I’m going to shave my legs.
Oh, STOP kidding yourself, you are going to use the toilet, abuse it even.

I had my Tina Fey book and my iPhone, although with only 8% battery life it offered little promise for entertainment.

Frankly, I don’t know if my process takes so long because I suffer from constipation, or I inadvertently sidetrack my intestinal functions with reading, pinning, and “look what she posted on Facebook, AGAIN” texts— a “Social Crap” one might say.

“PERFECT!” I exclaim reaching for my Sudoku book. Just enough time for a quick game without any kidmercial interruptions.

GASP! Was that the hall door?

My husband is coming. I said I was going to shower 20 minutes ago! Toss the sudoku back into the corner, wipe, flush, aaaand jump in the shower. Only to realize I’m still wearing my glasses. Well, that won’t seem believable. I awkwardly reach my arm out, smooshing my face against the glass door because surely the floor has cooties, and drop them on the counter.

Act casual when he walks past the shower door, like you’ve been in here for a while. It’s not like he knows your Ew de Toilet after all these years.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been married for almost 9 nine years. That doesn’t seem long to older couples like our parents, but I guarantee it’s long enough for the mystery to be gone. We ALL pee, and poop, and fart; sometimes, all at once. Don’t blush, gasp, or jaw drop. Ladies, you can only hide behind that air freshener for so long.

Shower done. I towel dry and get dressed. Brush my teeth—marriage tip, always shower and brush your teeth before bed, ESPECIALLY if you have kids. You need to be prepared for any “opportunities” that might open up (insert pun here).

I sort of toss my hair around a little bit. I AM exhausted, and I’m sort of hoping he’s already asleep; but if he’s not, I wanna look half decent; although for the most part your husband’s libido always thinks you look great.

Turns out, it WAS him in the hallway. He went out the garage to walk the dogs, and back to the living room to watch the game. It was a false alarm.

“Gosh, I skipped my loo for nothing,” I think as I bundle up under the covers.

That guacamole from earlier is still doing a number on me. My stomach rumbles, and I deem it an opportune moment to pass gas.

GASP! Was that the hall door?