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.)

Disbelief

Bryan and I were having a quiet, end of day conversation when there was a soft tap on the door. It was so soft that, when I opened the door just to check, I was almost surprised to see Mason standing there in his pajamas.

"Mom," he said, "Nolan just peed on his pillow."

My mouth dropped open and I just stood there, speechless.  Mason must have felt that I needed confirmation because he nodded his head briskly, as if to say "Yes.  It's true,"  before pulling the door closed.

To help you understand my complete disbelief, you should know that Nolan was tucked into bed wearing a pull-up under his footie pajamas.  The amount of work required to accomplish the stated misdeed would be considerable for a not-quite-three-year-old who can't always get his elastic-waist pants down in time.

Finding my voice, I pointed at Bryan, "Tag. You're it."

He graciously went to investigate the pillow and returned with the report that the pillow was indeed wet, but did not smell of urine.  (Bryan has the most sensitive nose on earth.) A upturned cup nearby seemed to justify his theory that the wetness was harmless.

An odor of urine in the room warranted additional sniffing.  This further investigation revealed a puddle in an old army helmet.  When questioned, each boy pointed to the other, but the circumstances (see aforementioned reference to pull-up, footed pajamas and toddler dexterity) suggest that it was NOT Nolan.  Which leaves me wondering, why did the guilty child bring the topic of pee to our attention in the first place?

If I was Mrs. Rosso

from the book Ten Kids, No Pets , and I if I had used her very detailed naming system, my children would be named:

Abbie instead of Mara

Baldwin instead of Gavin

Camille instead of Sirena

Damaris instead of Madelyn

Edwina instead of Sarah

Feodor instead of Mason

Garson instead of Nolan

Harriet instead of Evelyn

(Names drawn from my trusty name book "What to name your baby" by Maxwell Nurnberg, 1962, 17th printing 1977.)  It is also safe to assume that we would not have had 41 animals parade through our home over the past 13 years. But, alas, I am not Mrs. Rosso and have had many creatures, furry, feathered and scaled, live under my roof.

We are just starting chapter 4, and this book is getting laughs from all the kids.  Being a book about a large family with a highly systematic mother makes this a good fit for our family.  I may not have as many systems as Mrs. Rosso, but her quirkiness is not so far down the road from my own quirkiness.

While this book doesn't fall into the category of great literature, it is still a cozy way to spend a rainy afternoon or two.

conversation with a telemarketer

Ring-ring. Ring-ring.

Gavin: Hello?...Uhhh...Do you want to talk to my mom?

Me: Hello?

Suave man's voice: "Good morning, ma'am. My name is _________ and I am calling on behalf of D___ Network."

Me, politely: "Good morning. Let me save you some time. We don't watch television."

Suave man: "Well then, it would be a waste of time to try to sell you satellite television services, wouldn't it. " With incredulity, "You don't watch TV at all?"

Me: "Sir, we have 8 children. We watch them instead."

Suave man: "You have 8 children? That's what you get for not watching television!"

Me: "Yep. It's a great hobby."

Suave man, chuckling: "It sure is. Have a nice day, ma'am. Good bye."

we've got trouble, right here in river city

*The management begs your pardon for the indelicacy of this post.*

We have had trouble all week with the... well, the toilet- to be blunt. It has repeatedly backed up, spilling its nasty contents all over the floor of the front bathroom. No amount of plunging or snaking has been able to clear the problem, and there was a rumor among the children that the situation wasn't due to "natural causes," if you know what I mean.

Today was the designated "deal with the problem" day. Bry bought a new wax seal last night in preparation. This morning, I confessed that this was one of those moments when I am glad I am a woman, happily ignorant of toilet mechanics and lacking the strength needed to muscle the porcelain throne off its pedestal. Bryan confessed that he would rather cozy up to a plugged toilet than face labor. We ended the conversation pleased with our respective gender roles.

So he drained the thing. Unbolted it from the floor and began investigating the depths.

He snaked it. He shook it. He prayed and pryed and finally retrieved this:

a ballpoint pen


It would appear that the rumors were true.
Ballpoint pens are not a naturally occurring phenomenon in toilets.


This leads us to the culprit:

He has apologized, but I am not convinced that he won't try again soon.

As I type, a sense of triumph prevails.


The plug is cleared. The throne reinstalled.
Three cheers for Daddy!
Hip hip hurrah!
Hip hip hurrah!
Hip hip hurrah!

I do so love being married to a man who can fix almost anything!

Dream Time

I don't plan to analyze this dream, it would probably put me in therapy for years. . .

The dream began in a nicely appointed waiting area. Several groups were standing around chatting quietly. Looking up I saw the extended family from my mom's side was all present- aunts, uncles, parents, cousins, siblings plus my own family.

"Of course, I thought. Today's the day for our annual holiday brunch cruise."

A woman dressed in slack with a smart looking twin set accented by a lovely string of pearls was walking briskly about with her clipboard. She was clearly the event planner. Evidently the family had signed up for an unusual brunch cruise on our nearby Willamette River.

We were all dressed nicely for the occasion and there was an air of excitement as the event planner asked us to form groups of 6 to 8 so that seating could take place efficiently when it was time to board the, uh, vessels.

Boarding time finally arrived just as the kids were ready to eat the waiting room furniture. We lined up in our groups and filed to the boarding area. Each group was carefully situated at their table. By carefully situated, I mean, in chairs ON TOP OF THE TABLE. The tables were the vessels for our river cruise. As each table was boarded and launched, the next group moved into place.

Finally, our entire family group had boarded. It takes time with many people! Before the cruise was released to float downriver, the planner gave some final instructions. As she was speaking, I took in the scenery and realized that the river was brown and, um, chunky.

As my dreaming brain tried to make sense of this, I tuned in for the concluding part of the planner's speech, "Please don't let your children dip their hands in the river. The bacteria count is particularly high on Fridays."

Yes, folks. That is correct. The bacteria count. My family had signed up for a brunch cruise on a sewage filled river.

Addendum

While I was buttoning my oh-so-comfy denim maternity shirt over my burgeoning belly, Sarah came skidding around the corner into my dressing room (aka walk-in closet).

"The boys are trying to eat me!"

"That's because you are so sweet and tasty," I reassured her.

"I'm not tasty," she stated matter-of-factly. "Sometimes I lick myself, and I'm NOT tasty."

Now what, I ask you, is the appropriate response to that? I only managed a stunned "Oh? Um..." before she ran off to join the fray once again.

Stuck

With six children, I am only surprised it hasn't happened before now. We've had broken bones, good sized lacerations, head wounds- all the normal stuff except the foreign object up the nose. Until last night, that is.

Shortly before 9 o'clock last night, an hour after she had been tucked in, crying commenced in the farthest bedroom. This isn't really an abnormal happening. It can mean that a shadow flickered on the wall, that a precious blanket has fallen off her bed, or that she just realized she didn't get a last drink of water before her nightly imprisonment. In other words, no one jumped to her rescue, poor thing.

Bryan and I sent an older child to recon the situation. The report came back, "Mom, Sadie really needs you." Which I interpreted to mean, "Only Mom can banish the feared shadow, retrieve the lost blanket or deliver the desired drink." Rolling my eyes, as only loving mothers do, I walked down the long hall to play restorer of the peace.

I was surprised, dismayed and just a little bit annoyed to hear, "There's a bead stuck in my nose." Why? Why would anyone at any time stick a hard object into their nasal passage? Aargh.

She climbed out of bed while I mentally prepared for the worst that the evening might offer. Get the child dressed, find my coat, book and checkbook. I hate hanging out in emergency rooms in the middle of the night. Is urgent care still open? Would I be a terrible mother if I waited until morning?

I sent for Daddy and headed for our bathroom, where a small hemostat (clamp) lives. Investigation found a clearly visible yellow bead in the right nostril. Palpating it externally caused pain but no movement. I washed the hemostat, preparatory to trying to grab the blasted thing when Daddy walked in and suggested the farmer napkin trick first.

So I helped her plug the open nostril and instructed her to blow her nose hard...


...and the little yellow bead, lubricated by the effects of an autumn cold, came flying out of that little nose as easy as can be. Whew.

This morning I asked her why she put the bead up her nose. "I wanted to see if it would fit." Gotta love curiosity.

a silly moment

Have you ever played the "I've got your nose" game? In this game, you pretend to snatch the toddler's nose with your hand and then show them the nose you have snatched. The nose they see is actually the tip of your thumb protruding between the first and second fingers. Hard to describe but very popular with little kids at our house. "Again," they shout. "Again!" Of course, we always put the nose back in place at the end of the game.

This morning, as I was getting ready for the day, Mason came into the master bathroom to chat with me. I noticed that his nose was snotty and wiped it with a tissue. I then tossed the tissue into the toilet. Mason loves to flush toilets and immediately ran over to pull the handle.

"Bye-bye water," he shouted gleefully, as the water and tissue swirled away. Suddenly, a worried look crossed his face, "Nose bye-bye?"

A quick word was all it took to reassure him, but, for the briefest moment, he thought I had snatched his nose and tossed it in the toilet. I am still smiling, a fact that probably reveals my truly evil nature.

a little whine

Happy
hack, hack
Birthah, ah, ah....achooday
to me.

Sick

Sick

1) illness or pertaining to illness

2) disturbing

Sirena has thrush (a yeast infection in the mouth), and the simplest, least expensive way to treat thrush is with gentian violet. The problem with gentian violet, as you can clearly see, is that it stains everything, including teeth. We have been painting her mouth nightly, just before she brushes her teeth. It really highlights the plaque. I am told that it tastes quite nasty.

Daddy decided that the loving thing to do would be to join Sirena in her suffering.

WARNING!
GRAPHIC PHOTO FOLLOWS:

It's like Zion Lights gone wrong.
Quite frightening, if you ask me.

Love, true love.