Being the dad...

So it's been one hell of a week here at the ol' Hacienda. As you've probably seen, we welcomed lil miss Megan home and it's been an endless stream of friends and family pouring in to hold her and gush with that new baby smell.

While Carrie and Olivia play mom & big sister, I have been trying to get ahead on things...and failing. For example...With the addition of the 4th lady to the house (I include Stella in this count) the shear volume of waste going through our toilet is astounding. And a work stoppage that would make the AFL-CIO was bound to happen. It did...about 8:30 Sunday night.

I finally had some time to catch up on reading materials. When I finished, I noticed that gravity had ceased to work in our bathroom and things were coming up rather than going down. I reached for the only tool known to man to actually be able to fix this conundrum to Newton's Law - a plunger.

I worked that beast for probably an hour when I finally came to the conclusion that this is going to be an all nighter. Before the sunlight waned, I ran to the local Wal-Mart to grab a super plunger. Yes, I went for the accordian shaped blue monster in hopes that the larger bore would cover the opening to the netherworld below and release the troll that was blocking m bridge. Another hour...still to flow.

So I resorted to plan C. Now plan C is no where near as well known as his famous brother, plan B. Kind of like Tito to Michael (too early?) So I went into the basement and grabbed the plumber snake. You're probably wondering why I waited nearly three hours before going for the snake. Well...lets just say we won't "go there."

So I did my best to empty the cocophony of solids, liquids, gases, and plasmas inhabiting the bowl and reached in with the snake. Another hour of struggle and strife (and scratched porcelain) and...finally...SNAP! I broke the effin snake. Seriously! WTF? So now I've gone through two plungers and a snake.

So I relied on plan D. Plan D is probably lesser known than Randy Jackson (not the one on American Idol) in the world of poo, but more known for countless hours of waste...Google. I fired up my trusty ol' computer and searched "poo, blockage, plan C failed." Apparently, there was another option, hot water and dish soap. This concoction supposedly will losen up and allow the blockage to slip it's Earthly bounds and travel to the underworld. Alas, this too failed. Miserably. So now I'm bailing hot, soapy, poopy water. And I have a wife and daughter who need to go...bad. And it's now 11pm. Eff me.

So I decided that We're skipping plans F through X. We'll reserve plan Z (explosives and explitives) for the final solution. We're gonna take this bitch from the back side. Yes, I need to remove the toilet and go from the bottom.

By this time Carrie is begging me to end my misforutnes and come to bed. Which is funny, because she's one of the people who needs to go. But like any good father, I trudge on, hoping for some sort of resolution, or at least the rapture. I procure the necessary tools and begin the removal process. This is when I notice that my previous use of plan E (namely the hot water) had melted the wax ring that connects the toilet to the banes of Hades into a goo of wax, poo, and dirt. It's now midnight, and even if this blockage is resolved, I am still gonna need this ring replaced.

Anyways, I continued on with my quest like Frodo. Finally, I located the blockage. I could not identify it, but I am sure that researchers would have spent decades decyphering the DaPoopi Code. After some handy work with a screw driver, the blockage was no more. Plan Y worked. But I still need a wax ring.

So I got in the car and drove back to Wal-Mart. It was 1:30 in the morning. And I smelled like poo. It's hard to be humiliated at Wal-Mart, especially at 1:30am. But when you smell more than the combined total of people who inhabit the den of savings, you tend to rethink your future political aspirations. And the bastards decided to put the plumbing supplies all the way in back. Crap...

After another joyride to Wally World, I returned home, replaced the ring, and re-installed the potty. Finally, after eight hours of labor, the toilet worked. Hail the sunshine! It was a glorious moment. We now had a functional load master. My family could void and deficate in assurance that all would work properly and we won't need to worry about plagues that only Medival grunts would be concerned of.

So that was my Sunday...another day of domesticating the wild Gordo.

Peace,

ESD.