If you read this, Mom, sorry again for the unladylikeness of this post.
Brace yourselves. I have another bathroom adventure to share.
The main toilet in the downstairs bathroom had been running all day. It’s an OOOOLLLLDDDD toilet with a European-style “push button” flusher. (Honestly, this little old toilet was one of the main things that attracted me to the house we currently live in – it reminded me of Germany).
So after reading “How Toilets Work” on the Internet, I put on my Mrs. Fix-it hat and set to work. Hope was in bed, and Rhema was in the kitchen having a late night snack.
I took off the tank cover and inspected the guts of the toilet. Ew. I curiously lifted the floater ball thingy by the metal arm, thinking that action alone might solve my problem.
But I must have lifted the arm too high because the whole durn thing snapped off in my hand! Water sprayed everywhere, and I screamed (again). It was like someone was beaming me with a Super Soaker. Water was spraying everywhere, and I couldn’t stop it. Every time I tried to stop it, I would get sprayed in the face.
And I just had a real problem with getting sprayed in the face with toilet water. Was it not enough to have been doused with milk last week?
Rhema appeared and began squealing and dancing around on her toes in the bathroom. Woohoo, a full-blast water sprinkler in the house!
“No Rhema, noooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!”
I managed to push her out of the bathroom (getting soaked in the process.) Then I closed the door and locked it. The risk of leaving her unattended for a few minutes while I tried to stop the water was a risk I was going to have to take.
I figured out that if I held my fingers over the metal thingamajig in the toilet, the water would stop spraying. But if I lifted my fingers – let the pressure off – even just a bit the water would spray. By this time, we already had a nice little flood going.
So I stood there with my fingers over the thingamajig for a good 15 minutes, eloquently pleading to the God of heaven and earth to give me a clue. “God,whatdoIdo. WhatdoIdo. WhatdoIdo. Idon’tknowwhattodo.”
I looked around to see if there was anything heavy within my reach that I could use to hold down the thingamajig. The box of wipes on the floor was not heavy enough.
Then I saw my cell phone on the bathroom counter.
Called Brandon. No. Answer.
Called my dad. Thank God I can call my dad. I had just called him a few days earlier to help me fix a broken bed. (Yes, Rhema decided to break her bed this week).
“Um Dddaaddy? How do I turn off the potty?” I was a tad hysterical.
“Sweetie, just turn the valve off at the base of the toilet,” he said calmy.
The first time I turned the valve the wrong way and got even more water. The second time I turned it the right way until the water finally shut off.
I thanked everybody – my dad, the Lord, the toilet – which is now “out of service” – for shutting off. How do you spell r-e-l-i-e-f?
Then I had a good laugh at the thought of Rhema dancing in the water.
Because “a merry heart doeth good like a medicine.” (Prov. 17:22)