I think Archie best expressed all our feelings this morning when he did a trumpet fanfare in front of the toilet.
For the past two days, we haven’t had working plumbing. The clean water flowed abundantly. It’s just that nothing would drain. Somewhere between house and street was a clog. Memories of a flushed pair of size 4 Phineas and Ferb undies came flooding back. Was Doof making us pay for Archie’s mistake, which happened six months ago? It doesn’t matter now. My husband, along with an amazing friend, got everything working last night around 11pm.
So what does a huge family do when there is no way to flush or wash? We ate out a lot. After school yesterday, I took the kids to Target for potty breaks. Last night, after another restaurant dinner (and visit to those bathrooms) we went to my very-accomodating in-laws so the kids do homework and play while the guys worked. Before leaving, I told them to go potty, again. Make it count, I said.
We returned home because it was getting late and they needed to sleep. I wasn’t sure what today would bring. My husband popped upstairs to tell me they were trying one more attempt at snaking out the line. Please, God. Please.
It was a success. I cried. For real. I cried because flushing is beautiful and dishwashers are beautiful and washing machines are beautiful. But mostly? I cried because a friend dropped everything—including a special night his family had planned—to help our family out of a terrible situation. Sure, we could have called a plumber, but that would have made our belts even tighter. We’re talking going from a Scarlet O’Hara waist to a Barbie waist.
When Archie launched into his trumpet fanfare this morning, I understood. He ran around telling the rest of the kids the good news because good news demands to be shared.
Piles of laundry are often called mountains. I have the Himalayas to flatten today. I can’t wait.