Look, I realize when I come home from work every night it's not gonna be like it was back in the good old days of "Leave it to Beaver". For one thing, Ang isn't gonna greet me at the door with a dress on and sporting some pearls, Rakes would eat Wally for lunch and as much trouble as The Beav got in I've started to think Trot wasn't actually born but is some CIA invention being tested to defeat terrorism world wide by making them insane.
All I really ask for is no broken bones, appliances, or federal laws and I'm pretty much OK. And while I've usually got some curve ball or another to deal with for the most part I manage to make it from 7:15 to bedtime without losing my mind, cool, or lunch.
All three were in serious doubt when I opened the doors, Ang is laying on the bed wiped out with a migraine, and Rakes utters "I stopped up the toilet but it was Ciera's fault", followed by the following explanation from Ang while Ciera attempted unsuccessfully to give Rakes an atomic wedgie and Trot, for once, was innocent of any wrong doing. That I know of.
Turns out Ciera had deposited roughly 2/3rds of a roll of toilet paper into the commode, stuck the plunger in it as sort of a "Do Not Disturb" sign and closed the door. This was followed up within 3 minutes by Rakes taking the plunger out, doing his business, and then asking "Why was there a plunger in the toilet?"
Now would be a great time to remind anyone reading this I'm a TAD OCD and would occasionally dry heave changing the diapers of these children and here I found myself sweating profusely with a plunger in my hand and the fan on to drown out the expletives that were flying out of my mouth.
Bottom line? Toilet got unplugged and I managed to both eat my supper AND keep it down.
Can't wait to see what tomorrow brings.
Do We Mean What We Sing?
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