There’s an old philosophical question everyone’s heard a few times, “If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?” I used to think it was Eastern in origin, but apparently, while the concept certain might be, the original credit for it is a little less certain. So I don’t know who said it first, and I can’t really give you a good answer either.
What I can tell you is that if a toilet’s clogged in the house and no one is told about it, eventually it does make sound: the pitter-patter, twinkling sound of water overflowing it and splattering the linoleum floor.
Which is exactly what I was woken up to this morning. “Dad, the water’s coming up out of the toilet again.”
Again, the PuddinPop said. As if this sort of thing is a regular occurrence. The last time it happened was at least three years ago, in the middle of the night, and it terrified him when he was but a poor half-asleep 6 year-old.
I hear stories that some people like to enjoy a big breakfast and a copy of the New York Times on Sunday morning with a nice cup of coffee. I got to clean up a flooded bathroom and unclog a toilet. Good morning to you too.
What’s even funnier—and let’s face it, having to address early morning toilet problems is pretty funny, well, after you’ve saved the house from permanent water damage—is that just yesterday I was thinking about how different weekend mornings are now that I’m a Responsible Adult.
Yesterday, Saturday, was housework day. I’m sure I’ve mentioned that the Puddinette keeps us living straight up on the clean and tidy, but that doesn’t mean she does all the work. Oh, no, no. Hers is definitely a supervisory role as well. Which is how I found myself vacuuming the kid’s bedrooms after catching a couple of Leprechauns, petting the neighborhood unicorn, slaying the basement dragon, and having my children gleefully clean their rooms of their own accord and without resistance.
Yeah, I’m not sure which one of those things sounds more fantastic either.
At any rate, after the kids begrudgingly straightened their rooms and the carpets were once again visible, I took up the vacuum. As I went about carefully applying vacuum marks to the floor, it occurred to me how much my life has changed in 10 years. At that moment, I was showered, shaved, dressed, and going about the business of the day already at 9:30 in the morning. A decade or so ago, I typically would have woken up nearing noon or later, slightly disoriented, and not entirely sure of my present physical location. A slight headache would have been present, along with a deep-seeded need for a Skyline 3-Way, and a case of cotton mouth that tasted of stale beer, an unidentifiable late-night food rampage, and shame.
So, maybe I’m not a rock star. It appears my weekend morning these days are filled with much more domesticity than debauchery. And you know, what? I think I’m okay with that.
Just, as long as, you know, we can keep the toilet flooding to minimum.