One afternoon earlier this week I had just put a load of Addison’s clothes in the wash and  was in the kitchen making her lunch when the sink started filling up with water from the drain.  Well, water and muck.    I turned off the washing machine and the mucky water in the sink drained.  Phew!  I then drained the washer and the sink filled up.  Uh oh!  The water was moving between the sink and the washing machine but not out of the house like it should.  Like it ordinarily would if the line weren’t clogged with food from the garbage disposal.  Fan-freaking-tastic. The whole of Addison’s current wardrobe was in that washing machine.  Her clothes are little so I wait until she’s worn them all to wash them.  Addison had on a too big shirt and too little pants while waiting for her clothes.  I moved all the little wet, pink clothes from the washer to my bath tub for hand washing.

I put on my shoes and took my mismatched baby to the store around the corner from my house for some Draino.  When I say around the corner, I mean within walking distance.  It’s just outside of my neighborhood.  But it’s not walking distance on a 94 degree day with intermittent rain from a hurricane and a kitchen sink full of stinky garbage water.  I left my house as is; Addison’s lunch tray on the counter, pots and pans soaking, the ice in my iced coffee melting, because at this point I was considering it an emergency and wanted to get it taken care of before Scott got home from work.  There’s something so gratifying about facing a problem on your own and being able to later relay to your partner how you took care of it with a cool head.  Maybe I find it so gratifying because I don’t get to do it very often.

Seven minutes later when I walked back through my front door from the store around the corner I could tell something was wrong.  Oliver was not waiting in the window by the door like he usually is and he was just a little too slow to come and greet me.  As I rounded the corner into the kitchen I saw why.  He had knocked everything off of the counter.  Everything.  Even the stuff at the way back.  Like the 13×9 Pyrex dish I left  soaking in soapy water.  I’m not even sure how he would reach it unless he was actually standing on the counter.  I’m also not sure how he does these things and manages to get out unscathed.  He also ate a banana.  A whole one, I’m guessing, ’cause I never taught him how to peel it.

With glass all over the floor I was forced to go into my garage to get the wet vac.  The garage that I haven’t faced in since my cockroach encounter.  Yes, I’m still parking in the driveway.  One week and counting.  I dragged Oliver to the back door and left him outside – in the hurricane (heh) – while I cleaned up the mess.  Addison’s screaming from the noise of the vacuum and Oliver’s crying because there’s a large glass door between us and he can only see me and not step on my feet.  The Draino is in the sink doing absolutely nothing and I am ready to stick a large straw in a bottle of white wine.  I would not be solving this problem myself.  There would be no back-patting; no sense of accomplishment.

A call to the plumber and a few hundred dollars later and all of the pasta is out of my washing machine.  Yay.  Also, my kitchen doesn’t smell like a garbage truck.  The plumber gave me some tips on how to properly use the garbage disposal (for free!) but I’ve learned my lesson.  I’m getting a compost pot.

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