The End

So, I'm sitting here at the computer at 11:00 p.m., checking email one last obsessive time before bed. Ah, peace and quiet, just the television news to keep me company.

And one of my boys comes out of his room (adjacent to the family room where I sit). I say, "CLOSE THE DOOR! THE CATS WILL GET OUT!" And he quietly informs me that the toilet has overflowed.

I rush in to find a gigantic puddle of water in the bathroom, laundry room and main room. I grab towels from the ever-present laundry pile and begin to soak up the water. I flush the toilet and work the plunger and think horrible Non-Mother of the Year thoughts like, "My children are so stupid!" But what I say is, "Please! Please! I am begging you: FLUSH THE TOILET WHEN YOU FINISH!"

Here's the recurring problem. My boys do not flush. Their (a-hem) waste products congeal in the toilet, forming a water-tight seal. The next person who unsuspectingly pees in that toilet (in this case, me) and then properly flushes it ends up causing a flood because the dam in the toilet is now impassable.

So, technically, I made the toilet overflow when I flushed after using the toilet and left without watching the disgusting contents of the toilet disappear. I never would have guessed how much poop is involved in motherhood.

I thought about forbidding them from using the toilet. Yeah, like that would work.

The worst part? We are low on toilet paper and earlier (one of about five times one of the boys came out of his room) one of them went upstairs to retrieve a roll. That roll--largely unused--was sitting on the flooded bathroom floor, completely ruined.

It's the little things that annoy me.

TwinBoyA's history journal was sitting on the floor, under the computer desk. It's now contaminated with poopy water. Very lovely. I just shake my head.

The boys tried to talk to me during my sopping frenzy and I said in a firm voice, "DO. NOT. TALK. TO. ME." So they talked to each other, each blaming the other for not flushing, each denying that he did not flush.

They are still awake. It's 11:30 p.m. In the morning, when they wake up, they will be tired and grumpy and then we'll have to work on composition--their worst subject, God's mean joke on me. Today, they were so difficult to work with that finally, I just said, "Fine," and walked out of the house. I went and sat in the van for about five minutes. (Babygirl and DaycareKid didn't even realize I was missing.) When I returned, I calmly replaced all the school books in the school cabinet and didn't mention another word about school. They said, "Why are you mad?" I said, "I'm not mad. I'm just finished working with people who don't want to work with me. But don't worry. I'll be here all week next week and you can do your work then." (Next week is supposed to be the first week of Christmas break.)

Amazingly enough, they finished their work.

What is getting me through this week are the Crosswicks Journals by Madeline L'Engle. I am on the second volume called "The Summer of the Great-Grandmother". As I read them, I think about all the people I know who must read these books.

And now, I have to go to bed so I can do this all again tomorrow. I just hope that tomorrow the toilet doesn't overflow and that no one sneezes on me. And I hope that I win the lottery, even though I don't play, and that Oprah calls and offers me a makeover.

A girl has to have a dream.