No Pictures Please!

Why oh why are boys fascinated with all things gross?? I could use a day off from the disgusting! Unfortunately this time it's the toilet. He's bewitched! He's not been enchanted by every commode. Just my commode. I have nothing of worth in this house that is only mine (mine! mine! mine!). But with two little blond mess makers spilling up trouble, I've managed to isolate one itty bitty bathroom for myself. Itty bitty . . . you know the one - under the stairs. It's the size of a cute London phone booth. Dinky.

Okay so great, the kids get the big bathroom. We're all happy. Until someone (Kat) stuffed TP in the big bathroom sink and got it all clogged. Of course the Littles can't wash their hands in that bathroom, so they've come over to mine. Well, my bathroom happens to have a toilet that is extremely picky about its TP to water ratio.

Side note: I'm so sorry that I'm writing about bathrooms, and toilets. Total yucky. I want to run to the shower even now . . .

A couple days ago I heard someone (Baden) repeatedly flushing said toilet. I asked him what he was doing. As he looked up at me I saw eyes bright with plumbing excitement. "I'm watching the toilet paper go away a little bit, and then I flush again and a little more goes away, and then . . ." Extremely pleased, he reaches for the handle. "It's clogged." I say. "We need the plunger." Then I gave him a mini-lecture on plungers being the filthiest thing in the house. Long story short - toilet was fixed.

Next Day - - I spy Baden running down the hall holding the plunger up like the Olympic torch. To myself I think, "He's touching it. Please make him stop. Why is this nasty, ugly, thing fun to him?"

My internal dialogue does nothing to help me stop him. He's too ecstatic. Instead I give him the thumbs up and an encouraging smile. Mommy may have a problem with the yucky, but I've learned that kids don't melt away because of the foul and disgusting. And after he washes his hands it's like it never happened . . .

Yeah . . . never happened . . .