Tsunami Before Coffee
This morning began like any other, dogs out, coffee on, my starving 15-year-old daughter accusing me of running out of food in the house, rushing my 8-year-old to the bus stop, wetting down my 13-year-old's hair, lest he look like a rooster at the band concert tonight, and verifying my 11-year-old had black pants and a white shirt that fit for his first band concert. This was all before my first cup of Joe! Determining I'd have to add 'buy black pants' to my endless To Do list today, I made my ritual stop in the boys' bathroom to flush the simmering pot whatever they had deposited. A boys' bathroom is a Petri dish of disgusting bodily fluids and this morning was no exception. Little did I know it was a ticking time bomb ready to explode. Like a Magic Tree House book, I was transported on yet another Adventure In Motherhood: 'Tsunami Before Coffee'!
Flushing the handle, I turned to jog downstairs for a cup of coffee before stopping cold in my tracks. My pot runneth over! I shit you not; it was yellow, if there is any saving grace in this piss poor story. The toilet rumbled unleashing a veritable tsunami of urine erupting from the toilet, oozing like hot lava down the sides of the porcelain throne, lifting the lid in sheer force! Grabbing every bath towel I could find, Christmas Rudolf included, I soaked up the raging yellow waters.
I’m not gonna lie, my life flashed before my eyes as I quickly tried to outmaneuver the forceful flood. In all my days of diapering I have honestly never been so inundated with the stench of urine seeping through my socks. I'd much rather experience a golden stream, shot right in my eye, like the good ole days!
Why do catastrophic events always happen after my husband leaves?
Lifting the back off the toilet like a skilled plumber, I attempted to jiggle anything that would stop the eruption. "For the love of God," I yelled. Leaning over the commode to grab the plastic pitcher from the bathtub, I screamed for my 11-year-old to rescue me from my sinking depths of despair with a plunger from the basement. Ladling the toilet water into the bathtub as fast as I could, I noticed the creeping breach of my towel wall, its golden water edging closer to the hall carpet.
The plunger arrived like a sacred gift, saving the entire upstairs from certain tsunami destruction. Needless to say, my son hightailed it out of there for school without so much as a good-bye hug as I plunged and prayed alone. I don’t blame him from the sight of me up to my ankles, cursing the festering sewage!
In the aftermath, I emerged a survivor, outnumbered and against the odds, to find a silver lining in parenthood once again. The porcelain god now sparkles brand new despite the boys’ years of destruction. In fact, the entire bathroom has never been so radiant. Admiring my handiwork while reeking like the Cloroxed loo, I became certain the boys had been swindling me out of money for their sub-par bi-weekly bathroom cleaning.
Thankfully we are blessed to have a pot to piss in this holiday season and a roof over our heads, I will remind the children at the dinner table tonight as we recount our daily highs and lows. On second thought, perhaps I should experiment, serving the boys’ dinner in their brand new lavatory before the band concert tonight. Shouldn’t we all laugh one day? Cheers!
Flushing the handle, I turned to jog downstairs for a cup of coffee before stopping cold in my tracks. My pot runneth over! I shit you not; it was yellow, if there is any saving grace in this piss poor story. The toilet rumbled unleashing a veritable tsunami of urine erupting from the toilet, oozing like hot lava down the sides of the porcelain throne, lifting the lid in sheer force! Grabbing every bath towel I could find, Christmas Rudolf included, I soaked up the raging yellow waters.
I’m not gonna lie, my life flashed before my eyes as I quickly tried to outmaneuver the forceful flood. In all my days of diapering I have honestly never been so inundated with the stench of urine seeping through my socks. I'd much rather experience a golden stream, shot right in my eye, like the good ole days!
Why do catastrophic events always happen after my husband leaves?
Lifting the back off the toilet like a skilled plumber, I attempted to jiggle anything that would stop the eruption. "For the love of God," I yelled. Leaning over the commode to grab the plastic pitcher from the bathtub, I screamed for my 11-year-old to rescue me from my sinking depths of despair with a plunger from the basement. Ladling the toilet water into the bathtub as fast as I could, I noticed the creeping breach of my towel wall, its golden water edging closer to the hall carpet.
The plunger arrived like a sacred gift, saving the entire upstairs from certain tsunami destruction. Needless to say, my son hightailed it out of there for school without so much as a good-bye hug as I plunged and prayed alone. I don’t blame him from the sight of me up to my ankles, cursing the festering sewage!
In the aftermath, I emerged a survivor, outnumbered and against the odds, to find a silver lining in parenthood once again. The porcelain god now sparkles brand new despite the boys’ years of destruction. In fact, the entire bathroom has never been so radiant. Admiring my handiwork while reeking like the Cloroxed loo, I became certain the boys had been swindling me out of money for their sub-par bi-weekly bathroom cleaning.
Thankfully we are blessed to have a pot to piss in this holiday season and a roof over our heads, I will remind the children at the dinner table tonight as we recount our daily highs and lows. On second thought, perhaps I should experiment, serving the boys’ dinner in their brand new lavatory before the band concert tonight. Shouldn’t we all laugh one day? Cheers!
Great story from the life of a "super mom". I truly can't say I miss those days, though it is entertaining to read your take on those everyday disasters! Keep them coming, mk
ReplyDeleteThank you!! ❤️
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