Man oh man, were my Spidey senses tingling this morning. By that, I mean that my feet were itching like crazy, as they are known to do when I am feeling stressed. I was a little disappointed to have this start with my first waking breath. I then started going through a list of possible things that might've crept into my subconscious, but decided that might stress me out further.
It is not that I am not a morning person, but rather that I do not particularly care for my current schedule of events each morning. I start at 6:00 by dragging myself, in various states of awakeness, out of bed. I then proceed to the son's room where I gently tap his leg, and hand off his clothing to him once he is upright. We both end up downstairs around the same time, where the dog barely glances at us from his crate, as he curls into a tighter ball of canine slumber. Earlier in the school year, the son and I had a discussion about how unpleasant the early morning rising can be. I suggested that the best we could do was to not be nasty teach other, and so there is not much conversation.
Once he heads out for the bus stop, I move on to the next suspecting victim and try to somewhat convince the daughter to rise and shine (or at least rise). I typically start to feel the frustration set in after about five minutes of her shenanigans. It is not so much that I am aggravated with her snuggly warm and comfy form, but moreso that there is yet another being I have disturbed who is now not terribly thrilled to see me. I reflect, with some sense of longing, back to earlier days, when I was summoned from my own slumber to rescue one of these babes from the confines of a crib. I miss that huge smile of joy, mixed with relief, that I was typically met with.
OK...back to the matter at hand...The last of the three bears to be sleeping in his bed is, of course, my husband. If he is fortunate enough to have slept through the power hour of the early morning round up, I will grunt a "get up!" in his general direction. I have no interest in exchanging pleasantries while he is toasty and horizontal. I believe this whole situation has been magnified by this especially cold winter, as the fact that I have already walked the dog in sub-zero temperatures while he catches some more sleep AND warmth? Too much...
I have now established that I do not have a lot of warm fuzzy feelings in my weekday morning schedule. I am a creature of habit, so I plod along with the business as usual. This morning though, something interrupted my groove. After I finished making lunches, I ran into the bathroom where I was met with this scene. Now for a split second I thought maybe this was some sort of fun cryptic message like: "I've taken a plunge for you" or "Hope your day isn't full of crap" or "Wow! I just noticed your decorating flair and how this plunger really matches the paint" or "Thanks for putting up with my sh*t, Valentine" (early, but that adds to the surprise). Then I thought he had mopped the floor before heading to bed and hadn't put things back before it dried. I am not sure which of these scenarios that I conjured up is more ridiculous, but I knew none of them were correct.
So I embraced my role as Schneider, from One Day at a Time (minus the ginormous key ring...I have to look into that potential wardrobe accessory), and tended to the plumbing issue at hand. I considered making a valiant effort to say nothing regarding the whole event, as I knew there was nothing the clog and run suspect could say that would really make me feel better about the situation and his role in it. Then I decided to try to find the humor in all of it. I went with a little gem I had seen right before I fell asleep in front of 30 Rock last night, where Jack and Liz predict each other's reactions, by having them already written down on paper.
I jotted down my anticipated response and headed upstairs. After a few rounds of limiting my word choice to "Really?", I had to give a little bit more of a clue as to what I was seeking information about. There was some fumbling of words regarding flushing and general noise before the beauty I was looking for came out: "I didn't want to wake anybody up." That is when I handed over the piece of paper that said "I didn't want to wake anyone." We both smiled, and I should have quickly departed before anything else was said. Alas, I did not. The man asked if it had taken care of itself, and I informed him it had not (nor could I imagine that it would). He said it took ten minutes for the water to drain out the first time he flushed,and he wasn't going to wait around to try that again. Here is where I went on some rant about wondering what kind of volcanic explosive noise he anticipated there would be that would wake us up, and how was that worse than when he walks into our bedroom, when I am asleep, and turns on the television.
The next line of defense, following noise, went back to the length of time for the water to drain out. He claimed he could not put the plunger in with the water dangerously close to the rim, and then I not so gently informed him that such a time IS when you plunge, using water to one's advantage. I accused him of perhaps not knowing how to actually work the plunger. He shook his head and said he didn't want to make a mess. I then asked him to give me five reasons I should not pack his bags and throw them out in the snow...he hasn't gotten back to me.
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