The Traumatic Flush

My children have become obsessed with the toilet.

I have no idea how this happened or who put the idea in their heads, but they're suddenly convinced that flushing the pot will cause it to overflow, sending poop and pee cascading through our house in a nasty tidal wave. DD, to date, simply refuses to flush (and yes, that's fair warning for those of you who know me and might pop by). DS...well...that's a whole 'nother story.

He does his thing and then flushes. And then waits...one...two...three...and then bolts through the house screaming like Freddie himself has clamored through the window to snatch him up with his metal hinged claws and take him home to shred for dinner.

MOOOOOOMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY!!!

After about four days, you'd think I'd be prepared for this. But I'm not. It gives me a start every flippin' time. I just about give myself whiplash trying to find the source of the hysterics.

THE POOOOOOTTTTEEEEEEEEEEYY!!!

Oh dear god. This again.

He's naked. He always gets naked to use the toilet. I have no idea why this happened either, but it's the way things are. I only have so much energy and this is not a battle I'm ready to fight. So he comes flying through the house, cupping his personal prizes like a porn star, shrieking like Nancy Kerrigan. Because the toilet is about to flood the house and kill us all and drown his Leapster for the love of god, woman, get up and fix it!

I try very hard to neither laugh nor scream back. "It's fine," I say. "It's not going to overflow." I know this because two of our toilets are the original American Standard models that were installed in this house in 1949. Potties on steroids. I'm pretty sure NASA could use my toilets to suck the space shuttle back to earth in an emergency, although that'd be a matter of national security and I wouldn't be allowed to tell you about it if it happened.

Our third toilet is a low-flow model. Those of you with newer homes are nodding. I know. This damned thing couldn't flush down an amoeba with a single push of the lever. Really environmentally friendly since you have to flush a good three or four times to be sure your gross national product makes it wherever such things go (and I know it's the water supply, so you can stop telling me. Shaddup.). No chance in all of Hell that this particular toilet is going to overflow its boundaries, much less flood anything beyond a thimble.

Anyway, I've spent a lot of time the past week flushing toilets, standing over toilets, and reassuring the short people in my house that they are not going to drown or lose all their worldly possessions from showing Mr. Hanky the way to his final blessed reward. And I've spent even more time contemplating my heart and wondering how many of those earth-shattering, eardrum-splitting screams I can handle. Not to mention the therapy the kid's going to need from my busting out laughing at his nakedness bouncing through here.