Our toilet is broken.
Not irreparably, for better or for worse. I do believe it is the original fixture that came with the house, making it over 50 years old and impossible to fit with any sort of normal toilet seat. But that’s another story for another time.
The little arm thingy that attached the valve thingy to the handle broke. Plumb off. It didn’t merit a total shut down or call to Al’s 24-Hour Plumbers, thank goodness. And I’ve lived alone long enough to know a thing or two (but no more than that) about how toilets work. Which is a good thing, as I do like to maintain some semblance of self-sufficiency. Take the lid off, manually pull on the handle, let the water drain out, let go of the handle to shut the value. Ta-da.
The important thing about this little plumbing inconvenience is that it’s Will’s fault. Too much zeal imparted while “fwushing the potty” during toilet training. Which is going very sloooooowly. But with some gradual forward progress. Hooray.
This is the first household kid causality we’ve had. Honestly, I’m kinda pleased by it. Standard issue kid stuff like this doesn’t happen all that often around here. I did take the proper measures to explain to him, as best I could, that what he’d done was wrong. But inside, I was smiling and doing a little cheer. Way to go, my little guy.
I related this story to my friend, whose son is one of Will’s classmates. She laughed and told me about how she found her enterprising young man sitting in the shower, unscrewing shampoo bottles (a new skill -- unscrewing) and pouring shampoo down the drain. Not the Suave or Johnson’s Baby Shampoo. But her good salon stuff. And she had the same reaction I did.
These moments seem to be coming a bit faster now, albeit still behind what is considered to be the standard time frame. Just this afternoon, I watched him play catch with himself, throwing his big blue supermarket ball against the side of his bed frame. It wasn’t nice and neat, and the ball went here, there and everywhere. But he was making a real effort. And laughing in the process.
Tomorrow marks the beginning of his last week of pre-school. Next year brings kindergarten and a new school. It’s bittersweet for me, as I’ve grown comfortable with the environment and secure in the care that he’s receiving. His teachers and aides and therapists have taken as good care of me as they have of him. I’m going to miss that. But change is good, and in this case, necessary, as the next grade level up is overcrowded with a teacher that is always on the precipice of being overwhelmed. After being in the same school atmosphere for three years, I think the switch-up will be to everyone’s benefit. Next year means new teachers, new friends, a new route to school and a new school routine -- complete with uniforms. At least trying to decide what to wear won’t be an issue.
It looks like it’s going to be an interesting summer. I cannot wait. But I have the phone number for Al’s Plumbers on the fridge door. Just in case.