After the past three weeks of living in DIY hell I thought
we’d reached a point where we could slow down, get back to our lives and finish
up our projects as we went.
But then last night the Island King says “I really want to
go ahead and put the floor in the kid’s/guest bathroom tomorrow.
Which was fine with me. Having boys means extra gross
bathrooms and this one had really reached the point where an intervention was
needed.
So I agreed. This shouldn’t be too hard. Pull the toilet
out, rip up the old flooring, scrub the floor, put the new floor down, put the
toilet back and poof – we’re done.
There is a hole in the wall behind the door where the
doorknob went through but that’s an “as we go project” and not in the budget
right now.
In fact, the budget for the bathroom was spent when we
bought the floor – 3 weeks ago.
I pulled up the old flooring and it was time for the Island
King to take the toilet outside and then scrub the floor.
I hurt my back a while back and not long after, as I was standing
next to my taller than me son, I made an executive decision that Momma no
longer lifts anything heavier than her purse.
Meaning, I knew the Oldest would be drafted into helping the
Island King carry the toilet out onto the back patio.
I am might be a redneck and I definitely might have the
messiest yard on the street but
I knew it needed a serious scrubbing and me scrubbing a toilet in the driveway is just never going to happen.
I do have standards.
So the Island King goes into the Oldest’s bedroom and they
both come out a few minutes later, grabbed the toilet and out back they went.
I was heading for the other end of the house and not paying any
attention until I walked back into the living room and the Youngest Island Boy
said “Well I guess I won’t be pooping anytime soon.”
“Why not?”
“Because my toilet is smashed into a million pieces on the
patio.”
He’s a known prankster so I didn’t believe him for a minute
– until I walked outside and saw this.
“It slipped as we were putting it down” the Island King
tells me as he and the Oldest walk past me into the kitchen to wash their
hands.
It slipped? Were they on the roof when it slipped? How does
something “slip” into a million pieces?
Into the house I go and ask what on earth happened.
Again I was told that it was heavy and the bottom was wet
and when they were setting it down it slipped and fell.
The Island King is intently scrubbing his hands and the
Oldest is trapped in the corner, fascinated with his shoes.
I told the Oldest to look me in the eye and tell me what
happened but before he could say anything his father jumped between us and
wouldn’t let me make eye contact with the boy.
“I dropped my end and that’s how it broke” he’s telling me
as he’s motioning behind his back for the Oldest to escape.
I’m no detective but between the smashed toilet and the fact
that my cheap husband wasn’t even slightly upset by the fact that we now have
to buy a new one, I knew that “slip” was no accident.
And I knew the Oldest was just a poor kid carrying the other
end of the toilet.
The Island King quickly changed the subject and the day went
on with no more mention of the disaster on the patio.
But the need to know everything curiosity in me got the
better of me so after supper, while they were both in the room I said “Ok, I
want the real story.”
The Oldest smiled and told me that his dad came into his
room and told him he was going to need his help moving the toilet outside. But
there was a catch.
The toilet is a low to the ground one because we put it in
when the kids were little so it is a bit of a drop before your butt hits the
seat.
And the Island King HATES
that. But this toilet is not in our bathroom and the man rarely uses it.
He’s also convinced the porous
underside has absorbed the remains of continuous bad aims and can never be made
to smell good again.
So they move the toilet to the edge of the patio, pick it up
as high as they can, and throw it as far and hard as they can.
The Oldest says it was the coolest thing he’s ever seen or
done and the Island King jumped in telling me that it was too bad I missed it
because it smashing on the patio “was awesome.”
The Oldest shook his head and said "Like Humpty Dumpty - you'll never put that thing back together again."
I have to say I might agree with him about it never smelling
good and needing to be replaced but now there is a toilet smashed all over the
patio.
He says smashing it prevented any fight I might put up about needing a new one instead of putting the old one back.
So today I get to go toilet shopping with a man who has
declared that he is going to sit on every toilet until he finds one that “fits
just right.”
That’ll be interesting.
