I’m poop and puke

So my husband and I have a strict policy at my house- I deal with poop and puke; he deals with blood and guts.  I think I got the short end of this deal seeing as though no one has broken a bone for several years and he blows off any other injury.  My mother in law scares the fuck out of my daughter every once in a while about various ailments.  She swears my daughter has chronic bronchitis(she does not).  I swear she says this  because I smoke and she wants me to feel guilty.  I also run marathons.  A real live oxymoron.

My daughter hit her head on the bathtub once at my mother in law’s house and my mother in law proceeded to tell her, in detail,  how life threatening even minor head injuries can be.  So now my eight year old tells me (or calls to tell me!) every time she bumps her head on anything!  One day, the mother in law started talking about how she decided my husband (her son, who smokes more than I do and definitely does not run marathons and definitely has chronic bronchitis) does in fact have COPD.  My daughter, sitting right next to me scared shitless again, asks, “What’s that?”

I am wholly excited for the new year seeing as though last year was full of shit.  Literally.  Our toilets are volatile to say the least;  heightened by pop-can sized poop and lack of timely flushing and or lack of flushing at all.  When I start noticing my daughter using our toilet as opposed to the kids toilet or the overwhelming stench of three day old urine, I am forced to investigate the current state of the porcelain affairs.  And I have it figured out.  Either kid #1 or kid #2 plugs the toilet and does not tell anyone.  Being innately lazy 12 and 15 year old boys, instead of: A. unplugging the toilet or B.  telling someone, they continually piss on top of the piss and pop-can sized poop.  In October, my 12-year old was having a sleepover(which I very WRONGLY worded as a slumber party on the invitations he passed out and I’m still being chastised for) and I cleaned the entire house.  Husband and I were sitting on couch waiting for the mayhem and guests to arrive when I looked at him and asked, “Should I go remove the sign in the kids bathroom that says “Flush the fucking toilet” before his friends get here?”

Our toilet battles have caused financial, parental, and tremendous marital strife.  Generally, I can successfully operate a traditional household plunger.  The problems arise when I am unsuccessful because I am no longer holding up my end of the deal.  We own several toilet snakes, plungers, and any new gadget promising to relieve an irritable toilet bowl.  Like I said, I can operate the plunger.  I read in one of my girly magazines(which are actually now WOMEN’s magazines) that quickly pouring a bucket of cold water into a clogged toilet could help unplug it.  Often, this has worked.

My house was built in the late 70’s.  Hence, the only bathtub in the houses happens to be in the kids bathroom.  So one night I was looking forward to a nice, long, relaxing bath.  I started running the water, popped open a Bass, and then…crinkled my nose.  Sure as shit, the toilet was clogged.  I tried to no avail to unplug it.  I paused the running bath water and went to seek reinforcements. Husband was napping so was far from pleasant when I had to ask him to help.  As usual, the plunger “was a piece of junk”.

“I’m sorry I did not pay $30 for a plunger,” I feebly,(or half-assedly, take your pick) replied and went to get a bucket of cold water.

This was met with much amusement from the husband, who did not listen as I tried to explain the logic of WOMEN’s magazine.  In his defense, he has saved our family thousands and thousands of dollars in household repairs.  He can do/fix anything!! Really- cars, computers, electric, washers, etc.  Anything except  drywall, which he can do but refuses.  In my defense, I just wanted a fucking bath.

We argued for a few minutes and when I finally had him good and pissed off, he threw the plunger(that had been submerged in said shitty toilet water) in my half filled bathtub.  Ruined!!  Still crouched beside toilet in a very uncompromising position, I took my foot and pushed him slightly.  I will stick with my version of the story and pushing him slightly.  I will not publish the ensuing events; but needless to say, he did not get laid.  For a few nights.

A couple weeks later, my 12 year old ran upstairs to tell me brown stuff was leaking out of our kitchen ceiling.  Located directly beneath the kids bathroom, I should not have been surprised.  This is where I held up my end of the deal.  That was not a fun clean up.  I called the husband and told him what was going on.  He instructed me to get a pot and a screwdriver.    “Poke a hole in the ceiling and catch the  stuff(shitwater) in the pot”.

A deep discount from one of my boss’ companies and $500 later, a large portion of our ceiling was replaced.  Our kids bathroom toilet is now duct taped shut.  No joke.

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