The world around us had erupted into flames and disintegrated into a heaping mountain of ash. A giant chasm had opened up and swallowed all that we hold near and dear. The walls were closing in on us.
Or so it would seem, when all three children pulled me into the bathroom, eyes burning with urgency. Eva was hysterical.
“I dropped my bracelet in the toilet!” she cried.
“You dragged me in here like the house is on fire to tell me that?” I reproached. “Take it out!”
“But Mom,” Tyler said, eyes wide, and then he added with a hushed whisper, “It has pee in it.”
I peered in. Sure enough, in the depths of the water was a small yellowish cloud. Not enough to tint the entire bowl—the usual eye dropper’s amount that kids can hold in their pinhead-sized bladders before they’re crossing their legs and dancing.
But there was no bracelet to be found.
“There’s nothing in there,” I said.
“But I know it’s in there!” Eva sobbed. “I felt it fall off my wrist. I heard it splash!”
“Maybe it already started to go down the drain,” Tyler suggested.
Eva whimpered at the sheer thought of it.
I grabbed the toilet cleaner wand and poked around the drain with the handle. Still, no bracelet.
“That was my special bracelet,” Eva wailed. “I’ll never find another one like it ever again for a thousand infinity years!”
Actually, I’d picked up the bracelet for $5 in the crappy jewelry bin at Walmart. But to convince her that the bracelet was replaceable would be like trying to persuade her that her puke-stained dog-chewed bunny with stuffing coming out of its throat that she’s been sleeping with since birth was unfit for the city dump.
I put down the wand and knelt before the toilet.
“What are you doing?” Tyler asked.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” I asked, rolling up my sleeves like a surgeon prepping for surgery. “I’m going in.”
“But it has pee in it,” he repeated.
I had to laugh at the irony of it all. Did they have any notion of the bodily fluids I’ve encountered since I stepped on (or, arguably, crashed into) the Parent Train seven years ago? I’ve had spit-up in my mouth, projectile vomit encrusted in my hair, pee squirted directly into my eye, poop in my fingernails and a face drenched with snotty sneezes. A teaspoon of pee diluted in six gallons of water…bah.
And with that, I plunged. I was in up to my elbow, poking around the drain, prodding and inspecting with as many fingers I could jam down the drain. I came up empty-handed.
“Are you sure it fell into the water?” I asked Eva, who was staring at me with hope and disgust and admiration and horror in her eyes all at the same time.
Tyler dropped to his knees poked his head behind the toilet. “Hey, here it is!” he exclaimed. He scooped up the bracelet and held it to the light like it was a rare and exquisite jewel. “It was on the floor the whole time!”
Eva grabbed her bracelet with a sigh of relief. She looked at Tyler. Tyler looked at her. Then they both looked at me.
Tyler was the first one to break the silence.
“Eva…Mama stuck her hand in pee!” he yelped.
“Mama’s got pee-pee hands!” Eva laughed so hard it’s a wonder she didn’t pee some more all over the floor.
And that’s how I plummeted from (or shall I say, was kicked clear off) my pedestal, faster than a disgraced athlete on steroids. And while they laughed and jeered, I stood there jilted, just like Bill Cosby after his kids turned on him for feeding them chocolate cake for breakfast.
That’s it. I’ve had it with sacrificing my time, energy, and dignity as a human being to satisfy my kids’ every needy whim. I was put on this planet for bigger things than their amusement. I stick my hand in toilets and instead of getting a little gratitude and respect, and all I get is their mockery and scorn.
Well, no more. No more trading my sanity and/or sanitation for the ungracious. I wash my hands of it.
Among other things.
Are you sure those two didn’t set you up? I would keep an eye on them and always check the floor first…Have a Thanksgiving Mer, I’m sure we will read all about it . Jo-Ann
You’re right Jo-Ann…I should know better by now!
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