A few days ago I’m in the middle of cleaning up some craft stuff the kid and I had been using when I hear her yelling from the bathroom. Turns out that, while she was sitting on the toilet, she stopped to gaze in at what she’d produced and off popped her bracelet for a 8.9 splashdown. My hands are covered in stuff (crafting, remember?), I’m in the middle of a gooey mess. And I, grateful that her Dad is home, yell for assistance. Not impressed at being pulled away from whatever he happened to be doing (I’m guessing a game on FB or the Wii) he comes around the corner to ask what I am bellowing about.
“So you expect ME to get it out of there?!?!”
“No. I just need you to find me a wire hanger and unravel it, and I’ll be there in a second to get it out.”
A bunch of groaning and grunting follows. This prompts me to make an inquiry of my dear husband, whom I love so very much: “How many times have you fished something out of the toilet that Lily put there?”
This prompts a further query on my part: “Did you think we had the only kid who has NEVER put something in there?”
“Do you want to take a guess at how many times I’ve gone toilet fishing in the last four years?”
“I didn’t think so.”
At this point I stormed off rather dramatically to finish trying to constrain the glittery mess that threatened to engulf our living space. Very honestly I still had every intention of fishing out her bobble myself. But when I came back to the bathroom I noted a straightened hanger sitting beside the loo, and a lovely little bracelet with rainbow beads drip drying from the last remaining hook.
Sometimes all a person needs reminding of is how much of the mess they DON’T see.
And nope, the incident has never been mentioned since.