Smiley, Spaghetti, # 2 and the Lu (that's a pun - you'll see)

It happens to everyone, and I'm sure I'm treading no new ground by rehashing how I spent my day on Sunday. Still . .

Sometime near midnight I noticed the toilet was clogged. I had contributed to our city's grand fertilizer stock moments before but, judging soley by size and shape, didn't view it as a threat to our plumbing.

Plunging didn't solve the problem. Although the water went down it still flushed weakly and oh so slowly.

So I went online, read up on a few tricks, and tried 'em. Nuttin'. I finally gave up and went to bed, making sure to tell my wife that the commode was out of order. (we have an extra bathroom in the basement)

The next day, after work, my Dad came over with his toilet auger. It was an inopportune time as I was watching all four kids,YaYa had the neighbor's daughter over and I had just served them all spaghetti,  but what can you do?

We stick the auger in. We go through the motions. We hit paydirt. And we begin withdrawing said auger.

I saw air bubbles coming up and a brown cloud forming and thought 'oh God, this is going to be bad', but my Dad, being more in tune with man's natural processes, kept right on going until a fine mist of brown sludge burst from the bowl and the auger was out.

Attached to the end, pierced by the end actually, was an empty bottle of the kid's bubbles.

'Smiley!' I roared. He trotted in before backing up from the odor. "Did you do this?!"

He shook his head no but gave me a Danny look: a quick hunch of the shoulders, eyes a-shimmering, a sneaky grin and a quick but but silent 'hee-hee'.

[two years ago he flushed a triangle from his shape sorter at our rental, causing our landlord to have to replace the entire toilet. A week ago he flushed a toilet paper roll at my Mom's house backing up their bathroom. Maker of Trouble and Mayhem indeed.]

Now the problem was getting the bottle off, because as I said the auger had pierced the thing. I tried, oh how I tried to get it off daintily, with plastic bags between me and the thick brown sludge in and around the bottle, but it could not be done.

And so I grabbed it bare-handed and began to slowly unscrew it down the line.

Meanwhile I hear plates being overturned, slaps and crying from the living room, and cries of blame echoing from more than one child's mouth.

I couldn't get the bottle off that last bit of the auger.

"Cut it," my Dad said. "It's the only way."

And so I took a kitchen knife and in its last moments of its useful life began cutting the bottle off, choking down my dinner.

At this point LuLu comes into view, apparently oblivious to the wretched smell.. "Daddy, I want to go swimming with Stacey," she said.

"No," I said.

"Daddy, yes! I want to go swimming!"

"Damnit Lu, get out of here!"

"No!," she said, stomping her feet. "I want to go swimming now!"

"Lu," I said, still working on the bottle, sludge now all over my arms. "If you haven't noticed I'm elbow deep in poop right now - "

At which point I vomited spaghetti all over the floor. Lu didn't even pause.

"I don't care. I want to go swimming, and I'm going."

"Leave her be," my Dad said, looking at my vomit with scorn. "Give me the knife."

I handed it over and he did the deed. Once I cleaned it all up, dry heaved once or twice, and carried the garbage out,  it was done.

While I was occupied the kids had flat-out destroyed the house and waged war upon one another. All in full view of of YaYa's friend.

Did I mention the house smelled like a waste treatment plant?

&**$#$ Smiley.