My toilet overfloweth

Last night I went to bed pretty much a giant ball of mess. A lot of thoughts were swirling around in my head, some of which were weighing me down. I fell asleep while sending up a last-ditch prayer asking that tomorrow I would wake up to stress-free day of smooth sailing.

I woke up with the swirls of doom picking right back up where they had left off, but determined to make the day good despite waking up with last night’s baggage.

As I shuffled toward the coffee pot, my oldest declared that he didn’t want to to go church, citing all the reasons why it made him uncomfortable and upset (see my post on introversion here). Domino effect took place, and in a breath I suddenly had four children who really, ree-hee-hee-ly did NOT want to go to church.

Dan was on a two-week trip for camp, so the tots and I had moved in with my parents for a little extra support with the kids. My parents had already left for their church service, so I separated the boys from the girls, got each group settled in front of a television and took my shower, hoping it would help rinse off the negativity of the morning.

I never know how long I can leave the kids alone before they or something will blow up, so I was hurrying to get ready. I partly dried my hair with one hand while tugging clothes on with the other, then quickly went to the bathroom before scampering to the bedroom to throw on a few dabs of make up before returning to the bathroom to complete my hair-do.

As I literally began to powder my nose, I was halted by a strange sound.  It was not coming from any of my children, it was coming from the bathroom, and it sounded like a hose was being sprayed on the floor.

I leaped off the bed upsetting my make up bag; powder, mirror and brush still clenched in my hands. Like a ninja, I kicked open the bathroom door and laid eyes on the streams of water overflowing the latrine seat and the rapidly widening pool of toilet water creeping over the tiles toward the bedroom’s plush carpet and seeping toward the four corners of the bathroom.

I lunged toward the toilet, my left foot sliding in the water as I frantically fell to my knees and felt around the back of the toilet for the valve to shut off the water. Our house in Georgia has the new fangledy valves that you simply pull out to turn off the water, so I started tugging with all my might. But nothing budged, so I began trying to  turn the glistening, oval-shaped gold valve to one side. Again no movement.

At this point, the water was about to reach the baseboards. The image of water seeping into drywall or trickling down to the celling of the floor below in my parent’s mansion suddenly imbued me with Hulk-like strength. I torqued the valve in the “righty-tighty” direction and finally got some spin. A second later I was relieved to hear the flow of water begin to be restricted, like when you are turning off the hose. When the handle wouldn’t turn any further, the water ceased flowing and I began to survey the damage.

There was water everywhere. Not just any water, toilet water. The formerly fluffy rug was saturated and matted. I started grabbing towels and flinging them everywhere to sop up the water.

When I finally had the majority of the water soaked up, I carried the mound of almost-too-heavy-to-carry dripping towels down the sixteen stairs to the washing machine.

Steps one through eight were more like stomps of a spoiled child, with angry thoughts about this whole fiasco being yet another assault on my very fragile state of mind.

But around step ten, my arms beginning to strain under the weight (and disgustingness) of the heavy-with-toilet-water besotted towels, a new train of thought crashed the old one off the tracks…

(this piece is unfinished. it was just fun writing it until it wasn’t anymore)


1 thought on “My toilet overfloweth”

  1. i’m in suspense, ’cause i know if it were me, there would be many a door slammed, and maybe a hole in the wall, a few kids screamed at, and just in general a big ‘ol tantrum!

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