I jinxed myself.
I just six days ago posted that I never have anything to write about because my kids have been toilet trained for years now and so my well of poop stories has run dry.
But today poo and pee of both the animal and the children variety converged in a perfect storm.
I have nasty animals.
I have snobby cats that put their noses in the air and look at me with disdain if I don't clean their filthy cat box out to their liking. I mean, come on, what's wrong with every day? Scratch that, once a week? OK sometimes it goes longer than that but suck it up already and just go in the box anyway, you're a CAT not the Princess of Wales. Pick your way around the big lumps of clumped up pee and the abundance of cat turds and just go.
In the box.
NOT on Rosie's mother******* carpet!
And I have a puppy who refuses to housetrain herself, though I've asked her to repeatedly. We take her outside and she does her business and I think "See? She's housetrained. She knows what she's doing. She's a stinkin' housetraining prodigy".
And then an hour later she'll take a dump on the FAMILY ROOM RUG RIGHT IN FRONT OF US ALL!!
Really? I mean truly, honestly? That's how brilliant you are? You just KNOW I'm gonna rain a storm of hellfire all over your 8lb hiney.
Then there's our dog that came from the shelter as a 3 year old, so she was never properly trained before she came to us and I absolve myself of any wrongdoing here. I keep telling myself that I know she's trained and I never actually see her going in the house, so I have this whole fantasy world that I live in where I pretend she's trained even though I know she's pi**ing in my sewing room.
Final player here, our upstairs hallway bathroom. That toilet in there is a porcelain beast from hell. Oh, it looks innocent enough, and it's kept pretty clean. But some unknown person in this house keeps clogging up said toilet every time they drop the kids off at the pool. No one's fessing up, but someone needs to see a doctor. We actually have a sign on this toilet now that says "DO NOT POOP IN THIS TOILET!"
That's how classy we are.
So this weekend I thought wouldn't it be nice to rent one of those Rug Doctors from the grocery store and clean all the rugs and the sofas?
So I did. And after I paid a small fortune in rental fees, showed them my driver's license
and filled out all the forms in triplicate while the line piled up behind me, I lurched out of there burdened with this dinosaur and its bags of assorted attachments and cleaning solutions.
Somehow I hoisted it first into my car and then into the house and got jiggy with it, mixing buckets of hot water and cleaner and odor neutralizing solution like a deranged medieval alchemist.
I did all the downstairs, changing the water as needed by dumping the old nasty wastewater down the toilet, per the instructions.
And when I say wastewater, I'm talkin' about a viscous sludge a brownish-grey shade that would give the good people at Crayola nightmares, with a healthy representation of hair, dirt, and detritus of the urine and fecal variety.
I am baring my soul here, people.
I am airing my dirty laundry.
I am embarassed and ashamed and disgraced.
But my faithful readers demand my vulnerability.
I moved on upstairs. Boy, was I on a roll. I got half of Rosie's carpet cleaned and then ran out of solution, so I removed the wastewater bucket and took it to the hall bathroom to dump in the toilet.
I opened the lid and lifted the seat and began to pour the hazardous waste into the toilet. All 3 1/2 gallons of it. And of course because the pipes were all clogged up down below, the toilet projectile vomited everything,
the contents of the vacuum bucket
the mounds of wadded up toilet paper
the poop that clogged the whole thing to begin with
everything back out all over the bathroom floor.
And there I am, in my bare feet, with filth pouring out of the toilet and all over the floor and all over my feet and I'm scrambling to grab towels to sop it all up and grabbing the plunger and frantically plunging for all that is holy and the very act of plunging is causing all the nastiness to spill out at an even greater rate and one of the kids is calling up at me from downstairs
"Water is leaking from the ceiling!"
only I know that it is not really water but sewage, raw sewage that is now puddling on the bathroom floor around my ankles and running down through the floor to the ceiling below and raining excrement over the first floor
of our house, our home, the place we live and breathe and eat and sleep
and I just want to throw a match into the mess and let the whole thing go up in a fantastic explosion of billowy smoke and gas and poo and pee and wastewater and start all over again.
But instead of fulfilling that fantasy I had to spend the rest of the day scrubbing upstairs and down, washing towels in scalding water and Clorox, and soaking in a nice hot tub of bleach where I exfoliated every last skin cell.
Free To Good Homes: Assorted dogs and cats, all impeccably housetrained.
Also, white porcelain toilet, like new.
After enduring a nightmare like that, I know you'll vote for me, right? If you do, you win the toilet give-away.