Mr. D stayed sick all weekend and now today I'm home with 3 sick boys. We all feel like hell. My sinuses are so plugged that I can barely hear the phone ring. Fortunately, my sick boys all go into their separate corners and suffer silently. God love 'em for that.
Flashback to this weekend, when I ran to and fro, waiting on the invalid, caring for my children, hearth and home. Mr. T had black belt candidate training Friday night and Saturday afternoon and I brought him into town Saturday and cheered him on while he ran his 3 miles. Then I headed to the nearest drug store to stock up on cold and flu medicine. I returned home and checked in on Mr. B, Mr. G and Mr. D. Everyone got settled with fresh snacks, drinks, toys, and movies. I checked the clock. Thirty minutes until I had to go get Mr. T from karate. Enough time to clean a bathroom and then read a chapter out of my latest P.G. Wodehouse with a cup of coffee.
I grabbed a rag, my bucket of Mrs. Meyers cleaning supplies and a fresh roll of toilet paper and headed into the front bathroom that my kids always use. It's a half bath, just a sink and toilet, normally takes 15 minutes to clean. I emptied Mr. G's potty chair contents into the toilet and flushed. The bowl filled with thick brown sewage and wastewater. It stopped just at the overflow point. I re-armed myself with a plunger and began to plunge.
And plunge.
And plunge.
And plunge.
I turned on the fan and kept plunging. I fought back my gag reflex.
My arm began to ache.
I started to curse.
The icky poopy disgusting slop began to slosh in tiny toxic droplets onto my jeans.
I opened the front door for more fresh air.
I cursed the 3 year old who dumped in a load of toilet paper and I cursed the 5 year old who poops and doesn't flush.
Then I heard the cat squalling from the front door. I looked around the corner and saw she had killed and dragged a huge rabbit to my front porch and there they sat, carcass and cat, waiting for my enthusiastic praise.
Ten minutes remaining before I go to get Mr. T and I'm still plunging and now I have a rabbit carcass to dispose of before the kids see it and get upset at the cat. (2 years ago Mr. D found a baby bunny while mowing the lawn and brought it inside...the kids named it "Flash" and ever since, every rabbit in the field is certainly "Flash" or "Flash's baby." Mr. D has regretted that choice to bring the baby bunny in the house for one night ever since.)
Finally I heard the small groan in the depths of our pipes, the sound of the Wad 'O Toilet Paper shoving through and the thick brown sludge vanished down the drain. I flushed again. And again. And then I scrubbed, scoured and disinfected every surface inch of the room.
The bathroom glistened and shone. The sweet smell of Mrs. Meyers Lemon Verbena filled the air. I put away my cleaning supplies and headed for the front porch. After acknowledging the cat's prowess as a hunter, I carried the beheaded rabbit through the snowdrifts and tossed it far into the east field. Returning home with a second to spare, I stripped off my rubber gloves and scrubbed my hands of feces, urine and death and barely made it back to the karate school in time to get Mr. T.
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