The Dad and I were standing on our front stoop smelling the rain that had been promised, but wasn't falling. We were holding each other and thinking about just how beautiful life has been to us. We have two fabulous daughters who keep us hopping and thinking and entertained and grey-headed. We have jobs in an economy where more than should be are unemployed. We have our extended family and our close friends and a fabulous house in a wonderful neighborhood. And as we stood under the cloudy, fall night, counting our blessings, we were jerked back to reality with a scream.
Surely this didn't come from our house. The Daughters were in bed, presumably asleep.
We stood looking at each other for just one minute and then we heard another shattering scream. This one was quickly followed by a blood-curdling scream of "Help!"
And then another cry of, "Daddy! Help me!"
The Dad took off into the house with me close behind him. We first encountered Daughter 2 running toward us; she said, "It wasn't me!" The Dad pushed her behind him and I grabbed her up, hugging her to me as we heard another scream, "Please! Help me!"
One thousand thoughts ran through my mind as we ran through the house and down the hall to Daughter 1's bedroom. It was empty. The thoughts multiplied and became more horrific upon seeing her empty bed. I fished my phone out of my pocket and was frantically pushing the 9-1-1... just in case.
"Daddy!! Help!" she screamed again.
We raced down the hallway into the bathroom, where - I swear to you - her scream was still echoing off the tile. My heart was literally pounding outside of my chest. The Dad threw open the bathroom door and was greeting with something that no parent expects to ever be greeted with when opening the bathroom door: a face full of water.
But - as Daughter 1 quickly pointed out as I dried her off and shipped her back to bed. It was all The Dad's fault anyway.
It seems that The Dad had attempted to fix the toilet (yet again -- see a theme here in our bathrooms??) and needed to go get a part, which he hadn't done yet, so the lid was still off the tank.
Daughter 1, in her efforts to avoid going to sleep (anything to rebel, right?) had transplanted herself in the bathroom with her favorite book, appropriately titled, The Dork Diaries, which she's already read four times.
When she finished (the book), she flushed and then watched the workings of the toilet. This fascinated her, so she flushed again. This time she actually touched the various parts as they worked. And then she flushed yet again to further study the toiletry engineering.
In the meantime, Daughter 2 hears the flushing and knows that neither her momma nor her daddy would be wasting water like that and goes to investigate. She discovers it's her sister and chooses to do the sisterly thing by throwing open the door and yelling "AAARRRGGGGHHHH!!" She chooses to carry out her plan just as Daughter 1 flushes.
Daughter 1, upon the commencement of Daughter 2's plan, is appropriately scared poop-less as she's exploring what the filler tube does. What she discovers is that the filler tube actually fills the toilet tank with water. And if the filler tube is pulled from it's position, it will spray water in all directions, much like an out-of-control water hose.
Daughter 2 - who doesn't want to have any part of this anymore, shuts the door and runs to the front of the house where she meets The Dad and I as we are racing toward our screaming daughter.
I can see where she'd think it was The Dad's fault.
I wonder if Thomas Crapper's momma ever had nights like this...
