What happens when you’re so busy and tired that the little things that you used to take care of quickly get passed off to others? Well, you end up standing in your tiny (like, claustrophobic tiny) half-bathroom, looking your plumber in the eye as he tells you, “You’re going to have to write a blog about this.”
I can’t remember the last time my husband worked a “normal” week, which for him is five 12 hour days. Years ago, I would pick up all the slack when he did extra hours. I wasn’t working and the kids were homeschooled. Their social and extra-curricular activities were limited and manageable for one person.
Now, with me working, him taking on two or three additional jobs and my kids each needing their own personal chauffeur, there just doesn’t seem to be enough hours in the day. So when the children got into a screaming battle at 10:30 at night, we tried to ignore it. But when the accusation, “you spilled water all over the bathroom floor!” was shouted and the response was, “no, you did!” we knew we had to get involved.
I try not to go into that bathroom, as a general rule. It is on the second floor of our house, which has been given over to the children, in its entirety. There are bedrooms, closets and some homework/gaming spaces up there and quite frankly, it’s a scary place.
Children are foul. They take off their clothes and just leave them wherever they were standing. They shower and leave wet towels on the floor. They throw garbage in the general direction of the trash can and if it misses, eh. Then, the missed garbage becomes a lovely treat for the many dogs who live in our house.
Children. Are. Foul.
They are old enough to clean their own space. I have stocked the bathroom with cleaning supplies and even showed them how to use a toilet brush. There are dressers for clean clothes and hampers for dirty ones, and even multiple trash cans; a place for everything and everything in its place. And yet, I have nearly lost an eye tripping over God-knows-what, while trying to wake a child before dawn.
So, I try to stay downstairs, where there is cleanliness and some semblance of order. Except when the bathroom floor is covered with water. There is no leaving plumbing issues, of any kind, to unskilled labor (ie: our children).
After we shooed them away, we took stock of the situation. It turns out that each time one turned on the faucet, the valve under the sink began spewing water.
I would just like to take a moment to wonder aloud how my children were unable to figure this out themselves. I think I mentioned that the bathroom is little more than a glorified closet. The sink is smaller than a salad bowl. For real, it’s like eight inches across. There is just a sink, no cabinet or even a skirt around it. Just a sink.
When we turned on the faucet to diagnosis the situation, the leaking valved spit water at us. Our legs got wet. And yet, the children were fighting over who spilled water. I think that their problem-solving skills could use some work.
Anyway, since it was 10:30 p.m. and way past sane ‘o clock, Brian just shut off the valves. I went downstairs and made a bottle of hand sanitizer for the interim and added, “call the plumber,” to the to do list. Then we went to bed.
Several days later, I stood, awkward, embarrassed, and a little too close to my plumber, in that tiny bathroom as he turned the valve back on. It started to leak so he turned it a little more. And then it stopped leaking. It had been loose.
Likely, an overtired child had bumped into the valve with a knee or some such thing and loosened it. And it started to leak. After an 18-hour day, Brian hadn’t been interested in trying to diagnosis the problem.
And then, we sort of forgot about it. Like I said, I try to avoid going up into the danger zone; named such because the filthy state of it causes me to feel a rage that is dangerous to the children.
I stammered out some excuses about busy schedules and poor lighting, but he definitely wasn’t buying it.
There’s a certain point in your life (OK, maybe just my life) when you just have to accept your ineptitude, look your amused plumber in the eye and agree to write the blog.
At least there is, once again, a functioning sink in their bathroom. It doesn’t stop the spawn from being gross, but it shortens the list of excuses for their disgustingness.
When we turned off the sink that night, I was able to put together the emergency hand sanitizer in just a few minutes, from ingredients I had around the house. My husband informed me that most normal people don’t have these ingredients on hand, so you may have to go pick up a few items, if you’re not a freak like me.
DIYNatural had the recipe that I used this time. But, if you’re insane enough to look through the first 11 pages of the google search “how to make your own hand sanitizer,” you can find hundreds of different variations on this theme. Or you could just spill your whiskey on them. Instant disinfectant.
Laurie Nigro, a mother of two, is passionate about her family, her community, and natural living. Laurie resides in downtown Riverhead and is co-founder of the River and Roots Community Garden on West Main Street.
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