And, for comedic purposes, still ankle deep in the raw, liquid waste of other people.

Toddler mayhem, marital discord and home maladies always make for great blog fodder.

For life purposes, it pretty much stinks.

As rich as the material is, and trust me, this shit’s so rich it could fertilize a field, the clean up significantly cuts in to blogging time, that and the obsessive hand washing and Clorox-wipes-beneath-barefeet-cleaning-shuffle thing I do.

I left the house this morning through the front door, our golden tressed boarder was making her delicate way upstairs. She is a wisp of a thing, barely a hair over 5′ and I don’t think she’s ever seen a 3 digit number while standing on a scale*.

“Bye, have a great day.”

“You, too,” chirp chirp.

When I left the house the toilet was fine, a bowl full of clear water, no gurgling, no ominous rumblings. I know this as surely as I know my own name because every time we leave the house, no matter how long it is between declaring myself ready and leaving, I have to pee one last time. So this morning, with Sean loading the girls into the car, I ran upstairs and peed. And flushed. No problem, none.

When I got home this afternoon the level in the toilet was off, startlingly low, low like that other time of which we shall not speak or link. I decided not to use it, but to flush just to test. Being the plumbing disaster extraordinaire that I am I knew immediately that something was amiss. Being more toilet listener than toilet whisperer I also knew better than to screw around. I stepped out of the bathroom, closed the door and forgot the bathroom existed. lalalalalalala

Tonight before sitting down to dinner I mentioned to Sean that there was a strange something or other happening with the toilet.

“Something or other?”


“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean? It’s doing the weird stuff toilets do before they violently wretch their putrified nastiness into our home.” He sighed.

“We can deal with it later.” I realize this is easy to say if you are a person lucky enough to not have to use the facilities every 15 minutes, I am not one of those. It’s probably even easier when you don’t have dueling sleep interruptions that have you bouncing between rooms and thinking you might as well pee since you’re up anyway.

“I’ll get the plunger.”



“Let me do it.” He headed upstairs. I stayed downstairs and got the girls cleaned up and ready to go swimming at the YMCA.

“Man!” Bellowed from above.




“Towels, now. Towels. Towels. Towels.”


“Yes, towels. Shit.”

I ran up the stairs and as I did I arrived at a point where the deep honey colored hardwood floors were at eye level. It was awesome in that natural disaster, holy shit kind of way as the setting sunlight coming through our bedroom window hit the wide expanse of floor and just how penetrating the spill was became blindingly clear.

“Just fucking great,” I railed as my feet hit wet wood and slapped with each step. I grabbed a hanging towel, a towel from the floor and two more folded in a pristine white basket lined with sweet gingham. Our best towels, the towels that make me feel decadent as I step from the shower. One was a brilliantly white Ralph Lauren towel given to me two Christmases ago by my sister. I love the weight and-

“Hurry, towels, towels, NOW!”

We spread them out as fast as we could, the vile liquid soaking through immediately and snaking past the terry cloth, under the safety gate, beneath the cabinet. Fury, disgust and defeat choked me as I tried to sop up the mess, but found each towel heavier and more soiled than the last.

It took what felt a lifetime to clean it up, but we managed. Luckily the YMCA pool was a bit like taking a dip in some sort of acid and I think it effectively burned off any germs that might have escaped the scalding hot water I held my hands under as I scrubbed with antibacterial soap.

Now, the toilet is technicaly fixed with Sean saying he flushed it three times and saw nothing strange happen. All I know is the water is very low again, I do not want to be the one holding the handle when it overflows. If it overflows, but really, who am I kidding?

When it overflows again.

Stay tuned. In the meantime please feel free to share some of your own horror stories because for the love of poop, it’s lonely doing this stuff.

*I am confounded by how a person so small can create waste so large it makes an entire plumbing system fall to its knees and cry for mercy.