There are few things in life as unsettling as the first day after moving into a new house. I thought that would remain true for moving into the New Old House. However, I was wrong. Even more unsettling was Day 2.
Things started out as blissful as ever with Lydia's get-me-out-of-this-bed-because-all-I-can-see are-towering-boxes cry at 6:00 a.m. And I'm extremely disgruntled to remember that the coffee maker still was yet to be found. Both Mark and I remember putting it into a box that we were going to plan to open right away. (If you can tell me how many different tenses of verbs I used in that sentence and why they are grammatically incorrect, I'll give you a prize.) But that was sooooo long ago, that neither of us remember where the ever-important OPEN FIRST box is.
So Day 2 also starts out with no coffee, but we did have apple juice for the kiddos thanks to a very quick trip to the grocery store in between the puking adventures of Day 1. So I'm slowly, groggily trying to round up some breakfast for the hungry children. I get the apple juice out of the fridge and start to pore glasses. I feel a drip, a small splash. In my over-exhausted, non-caffeinated morning did I somehow splash juice on myself? A quick glance to the counter confirms that No, I have not spilled juice. The drip is coming from directly above me.
Something my son said 90 seconds ago is starting to register.
"Mommy, the toilet didn't work up there."
No. NO, NO, NO, NO, NO . . .
I look up and where I should be feasting my eyes on freshly dry walled and painted ceiling accented by our 12 new can lights, there is now a steady stream of "water" flowing down through the can lights and hitting me on the head! (But of course when a person looks up, the "water" hits them in the EYE! )
No longer groggy, I throw the baby into Claire's arms and run upstairs. What I find in the bathroom drops my spirit into a deep, deep abyss. The only thing I can say is No. No, No, No, No No. And I keep repeating it over and over.
The bathroom is covered in almost 2 inches of toilet water that had very recently (98 seconds ago) been contaminated with Diarrhea. Now, I'm sorry for writing that word here on this blog. It's such an ugly, vile word most people won't even say it without looking a little squeamish and ducking their chin down a little. But I promise there is no better place to actually say the word than in the ugly, vile context of my flooded bathroom.
So the Diarrhea toilet water has flooded the bathroom, has leaked down through our brand new ceiling and lights and the toilet is still running!!!!!!
Jody does not do gross stuff. She just doesn't. Mark handles gross stuff like he's been doing it all his life because . . .well, . . . he's been doing it all his life! He grew up on a farm where he had to do gross stuff and then we got married, and all the gross stuff that happened in our house, he did that too! He's such a wonderful, thoughtful, masculine, hero type of guy! But my hero who does all the gross stuff was on the farm.
It was just me with the four, wide-eyed children, and the running diarrhea water, and the nasty, gross, smelly, vile bathroom floor.
I actually had to STEP IN THE WATER to reach the toilet to turn the water off. What I wanted to do was crawl into my closet, gather my little children around me and just wait until Mark could come take care of it. (Example)
But I didn't. I stepped in contaminated, Diarrhea-infested water and waded my way to the valve at the back of the toilet. Then I dropped to my knees and began pulling every towel we own out of boxes to start soaking up the nastiness. Without rubber gloves!
That was Day 2. I can remember nothing else of the day besides cleaning, scrubbing, and sanitizing the bathroom. Day 2/Diarrhea Toilet Water Flooding my Bathroom will remain in my memory for a long, long time.