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Everyone who has boys has the clogged toilet stories—these are fun times.  My friend had her fancy new smart phone a month when she learned that her tot could open doors.  She found the phone in the toilet…thank god for insurance with lousy $100 deductibles!

When Mikey was about 18 months old we kept having issues with the toilet in my master bath.  It would flush sometimes, and try to overflow others.  It didn’t have any rhyme or reason, but none-the-less, the plunger sat in plain sight for a while.  It seemed that every night before bed, Greg would come in and do his nightly ritual of his Austin Power’s like evacuation of his bladder, flush the toilet and leave the bathroom.  Can anyone tell me how many times a person can do this before they learn to stand guard with the plunger if they are mopping up overflow regularly?  I heard once that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result.  I should have had the men in white jackets come for Greg—lord knows they almost had to come for me after a string of nights cleaning up the bathroom floor just before going to sleep.  Great for relaxation…  Finally after enough exasperation, my Dad and my husband made a date to figure out what was wrong with the toilet.  They snaked, plunged, flushed, snaked, plunged, flushed, but to no avail.  Something would rattle in the drain occasionally, but that’s all the result could coax from their exciting routine.  The toilet had to come out.  I was really glad I was at work that day.  So dad and Greg took it out to the backyard, and when they still couldn’t get anything out of it, they thought it was going to have to be replaced.  In one last effort to know what had caused all of this drama, my husband picked it up and shook it violently once more—thank God, G. is big and strong!  Out falls an eye shadow compact–flat and square–which explains why it clogged the toilet sometimes and not others.  It was wedged in such a way that it would rotate like a flap opening and closing the drain when water would rush through it.  It sure was nice to be able to go to bed, be on the edge of sleep, and not be awakened by Greg cursing and running for towels!


As an apparent “rite of passage” Pierce clogged the same toilet at about the same age.  It was funny because if the lid was closed, he wouldn’t bother it, but if it was open, it was a free-for-all.  G. forgot to close the lid one morning when he had been sick, and Pierce found that it was a nice swimming pool for his cars.  Greg thought he got all of them out, but apparently not.  We actually didn’t use that bathroom for a couple of weeks because neither of us wanted to deal with it.  Then finally I’d had it.  But I was quickly informed that Greg wasn’t taking it out again.  Unfortunately I was going to have to call a plumber—I’ve never done this in my life.  If under-sink plumbing, fixtures, or the guts in the toilet tank needed replacing, I’d get out my tools, wedge my body into a cabinet that only a size 2 should be able to fit in, and make it happen.  I had to learn how to do these things early on in my first place, when the kitchen faucet came off in my hand and water was gushing out.  Anyway, I digress with my list of accomplishments.   So, I called a plumber, found out it would be between $150 and $225.  Not great news when I’m not working.  Oh well…  The plumbers arrived.  I was expecting  “butt crack” and “dimwit.”   To my pleasant surprise, I got “nice looking” and “wowie zowie!”  They were courteous, clean and efficient, and they worked for every dime.  I could hear them doing contortions to get this mystery toy out.  I’m surprised they could keep from using colorful language in the process.  Ultimately, they brought me a plastic car with a person in it—I guess the giant head was the real “sticking” point.  Within and hour-and-a-half, my toilet was working again.  Within two hours, I had flushed the car back down—any reason to call the plumbers again!!!  Just kidding…