the great flush

     I was in a hurry. A big hurry.  Getting three little kids and a slow moving, dragging feet, husband out the door to church on time, is truly enough work for an entire weekend.  No matter how early the routine begins before 6:00 mass on Sunday, someone always manages to spill something down their shirt, lose a shoe, or crap through an outfit at the precise minute I would like to leave. Always. 

     90 minutes before the start of church, I began the ordeal.  I changed Bud's clothes and combed his hair and asked my husband to get start getting ready.  I changed Declan's clothes, washed his face and horrendously smelly feet, put his shoes on, and kindly asked my husband to get in the shower.  I fed Finley some bananas and oatmeal, washed her up, put a darling little sun dress on her, complete with bloomers, and told my wonderful husband to get into the damn shower.  I put Declan's shoes back on, changed Finley's disgusting diaper, and set both boys in front of the wii. Although, I feel like I am moving at the speed of light while performing these tasks, the time is ticking away. So, I put Finley on the floor of the master bathroom with some baking utensils to occupy herself and I kick my husband out of the shower he has just begun, hose off, dry off, and jump in my clothes. I look down and realize with disgust the toilet is full of boy pee. Rolling my eyes, I lean over to flush it, while hastily grabbing my makeup bag off the back of the toilet. Unzipped contents of my makeup bag scatter across the bathroom floor except for the most import of contents, the birth control.  I look down and watch my cute little sunkist yellow compact of antibaby, swirling around and disappearing down into the toilet.  With my cat like mommy reflexes I plunge my arm into the toilet (great think my sassy sundress was sleeveless!) and successfully pluck out the pills. To my surprise, in my right hand I have only the pills, compact gone! 

     I reach my hand into the toilet and weave my arm around an S curve and the very tips of my fingers can feel the edge of the compact. I glance at my watch, still have 5 minutes before go time.  Check on the boys, playing wii with daddy who has Finley on his lap.  I grab a hanger, plunge my hand back into the toilet, shove the hanger down the toilet and attempt to "pinch" the compact between my finger tips and the hanger. No dice.  I give it a few more attempts, give up, scrub my arm to the elbow with bleach and corral the troops into the minivan to church.

     Church was lovely. My mind did start to wander during the homily and tried to come up with a couple more strategies to retrieve the palm size piece of plastic from the depths of the bathroom. I did say a prayer about my toilet situation inbetween bribing the children to be still and quiet with promises of popsicles.

    Returning to the home front, I wanted everybody down for the night so I could resume my efforts. I dished out the guys their popsicles, I put Finley in her jammies, and started nursing her when I heard some commotion downstairs.  Finley on the breast, I ran downstairs and found the boys in a heated argument, crying.  With my free arm, I broke up the fight, washed up their popsicle stained faces and began to put their jammies on them, when it dawned on me, where on earth is my husband? And I heard the flush.

     NOOOO! I ran to the bathroom, alas, too late! The water, toilet paper, and other goodies of the toilet were already erupting over the bowl by the time I reached the doorway.  Disgustingness.  Together we cleaned and plunged and cleaned and plunged until we both came to the agreement we did not want to flush money down the toilet on a plumber (ha ha) and we vowed to not use our master bathroom toilet for #2 or use more than a square of toilet paper.  This was over a month ago and it is killing me, especially in the middle of the night! So do I cave and break the bank on a plumber or just put the house up on the market sooner than expected?