There's a pirate

down my toilet, and I don't think he is looking for treasure.


Evie, Nono and Mason were having a quick scrub before bed when Evie tossed several small bath toys* into the toilet.

Yes, the tub is quite full with three squirmy children in it. But when you have a large family and ordinary water heater, it works.

Bathing Evelyn is like bathing an octopus.  She loves the water and starts disrobing at the first mention of a bath.  Once she is in the tub...woo eee! She is busier than a one-armed paper hanger (to quote Grandma Dowdel*).

In about 14 seconds, she had dumped bubbles over both her brothers' heads, pitched the pirate and his buddy into the toilet, given herself a bubble beard, drank a cup of soapy water and climbed out of the tub twice.

For the record, I was fishing for pirate #1 when she made her escapes. I was never more than 18" from the little miscreant.

I was just deciding that the pirate's buddy was already too far gone when Madelyn handed me my cell phone.  Poor timing, poor Mara. She got an earful.

"Hi, Mommy.  Did you get my text?"

"No.  I'm a bit busy.  Up to my elbow in the toilet fishing for pirates, while supervising a bath, if you want the truth!"

"Gross. Ummmmm, okay.  I need a ride.  J____ is sick and can't drive me home.  Can you pick me up?"

"I think there's another pirate down the toilet that I can't reach; the kids are going bonkers in the tub, and, besides, I am already in my jammies!"

The rest of the earful is best forgotten. I got the details regarding the pick up location and time, hung up and pried the children, dripping bubbles, from the tub.

I wrapped the octopus in a towel and handed her to Madelyn, ordered Gavin to fetch, dry and get Nolan into bed.  Mason was wordlessly handed a towel, and Mommy took herself to time out.

I may have shouted something towards my husband about the need to snake the toilet, but I didn't check to see if he heard me.  I turned in my mommy card and didn't look back...until...

Sarah came flying out of the bathroom to announce that the toilet was overflowing.  The sound of cascading water always has a galvanizing affect on me.  Bryan and I arrived on scene at about the same time.

"Didn't you hear me when I asked you to snake this thing?"I asked in what was not the friendliest tone of voice I have ever used as we grabbed dirty towels to sop up the pool of dirty water.

"Nope.  Didn't hear that," he looked at the floor, me, his watch , my jammies and grabbed his car keys to go get Mara.

After sopping up the water and ordering Sirena to start a load of towels, I gave myself another short time out.

Coming to my senses, I went in search of the snake. Yes, I do know how to use one.  I am a brave girl and have unplugged many a porcelain throne, albeit reluctantly.

Clenching my jaw, I worked it into the depths. Further and further, deeper and deeper.  Finally, I tried to pull the thing out hoping that Mr. Pirate would come along for the ride.  Nothing doing.  The snake was all the way extended and stuck.  Nothing was visible except flakes of rust.

Being in no mood to concede to a toilet, I gave it a mighty effort. Triumph! Over the snake, anyhow.  I was able to pull the nasty thing back out from around all those bends.

As for Mr. Pirate, he has gone to his final resting place.  Our septic tank.  Come to think of it, it might not be such a final resting place after all!  We are scheduled to have the tanks pumped soon so his chance of making to Davy Jones' Locker* is not entirely out of the question.

Blogging is therapeutic; my sense of humor is restored. Good night.

(*Affiliate links help support my story-telling habit and buy diapers.  Thank you.)