Anyone remember Josh's flooded house?

M

munk

Joined
Mar 22, 2002
Messages
15,742
Well, Josh, yesterday my wife drove her mother to Billings and stayed overnight. My middle son put almost an entire box of kleenex in the toilet and didn't tell anyone. When I flushed it poop water rushed out. I cleaned the room up. The plunger didn't remove the jam. I even put my arm down the toilet, looking for the obstruction.

I locked the bathroom so the kids wouldn't use it, and thought I'd try the plunger again later, hoping the tissue had softened.

What I didn't know or understand, was the toilet had a slight leak. Quietly, efficiently, water eventually rose over the rim and pooled on the bathroom floor. The carpet on the other side of the wall collected the poop water. The Poop water went down the hallway. It was heading for my gun room when I found it. It would have been nice to spot the poop water sooner, but the hallway was unused that evening and the bathroom closed.

I tried pulling the 20 year old carpet up but it tore. I had a Cold, it was late and I wanted to go to bed. I ripped the entire section of poop water carpet out, the saturated pad beneath it, and carried the dripping mess to the front door and threw it outside into sub zero weather. I see this morning there is a strange sculpture on the patio.

The hallway is now exposed concrete.

I mopped it before I went to bed and angrily threw the bucket, mop, and wringer outside too.

I really didn't want to buy a new carpet for the house.

Today I have the runs....what a surprise, being as how I soaked two pairs of trousers through the ordeal.

Every towel in the house is poop watered. I'll wash them today.

I wonder what my wife will think of her new hallway?




munk
 
Munk, there's probably also a plastic GI Joe or Lego Aquanaut guarding the end of that pipe to keep the kleenex and **** monsters from invading your septic tank.

Kids, ya gotta love 'em!

Edited to add: I never realized thet turd was a bad word. :confused:
 
most of my friends have just started to have children. the eldest kid in our group is 2 years old.

went to play texas hold 'em last night and the amount of screaming, crying, running around and fighting made it utter chaos.

a whole box of tissue paper eh?

poop water eh?

:confused:
 
And you didn't hang the kid up over the stove by his thumbs?;)


That's what the punishment used too be for one of my uncles, he never did learn to listen. His wife shot him in the gut with a .25 once, should'a used a .45 and aimed a little higher so that it would'a took.:grumpy:

But Munk's a good dad and wouldn't do anything like that even if the action warranted it. Munk's a better man than me, even if I have gotten more forgiving in my old age.:) ;)
 
Yvsa, I was so mad I didn't trust myself to look at the kid. When it was over I went to his room and watched his sleeping form. I decided even though I'd like to punish him all over again, I wouldn't do it. So, this morning I showed all three what had happened, and how a little thing can turn big.

My Dad never forgave me many things, and they still rest to this day behind his eyes when he gets frustrated with me. I won't do that to this kid. He's a great kid. He's strong and lands on his head. He's built like a little bull. He does rotten things. He lies. But when Dad corrects him, he is crestfallen. I don't want him to think of himself as rotten. As, "that Trav kid who is no good."
I forgot to mention that in MT you wear socks indoors. This keeps the mud out of the house from shoes. Probably do that in the East too. But anyway, I found the poop water by my wet sopping socks. Just a'splashing along.

My first born would take a lickin and just stare at you. No give. The Second hates to do wrong by Dad. The Third I don't know about yet. He's just starting to get lightly spanked.

I've spanked them, and hard, but I'm thinking I'm really not the man for the job. You see, to spank the right way it should be dispassionate. I'm almost always besides myself with anger.

Mostly, I just throw them over my shoulder, carry them to their rooms, and lock the door. They hate that.
 
Had the same experience. Put a plastic sheeth on the floor, between the toilet and the front door, detach the water supply, and just unbolt the whole toiletpot and take it off the pipe upwards . The hole will either stay clogged with paper :) , and u can put the toiletbowl on the plastic sheeth, or the paper ball will disloge :grumpy: and the whole contents will flow out. DON'T PUT CHEMICAL PRODUCTS IN THE TOILET BEFORE U DO THIS ! With luck u can put the pot on the sheeth and pull the filled pot out the house, just tip it over slowly and take the ball of paper out from the underside! This is not a pleasent thing to do but the only way to do it perfect. GOOD LUCK!
 
Thanks, Loki, but I thought I would try a snake first.




Is that a good thing? My washer and shower still work, so their discharge is safe.


munk
 
munk said:
Thanks, Loki, but I thought I would try a snake first.
Is that a good thing? My washer and shower still work, so their discharge is safe.
munk
Click to expand...


That is what I'd do Munk, try the snake first.

Thats why we keep the doors closed to the bathrooms here, my little one is only 17 months but her mom taught her to flush the toilets, and she loves the sounds...
 
Kids love toilets. It's like forever down there. The water disapears. Facinating. I know some action figures went down last year.
I don't know what I'm going to do about the runway of concrete. Maybe just throw some rugs over it until we have the money to recarpet the lower house. Maybe tile.


munk
 
yes try the snake, but although the friging tissue box says 'bio degradable" it shure wasn't degraded a lot when i desided to do it the dirty way. Remember those wads of paper u shewed on in school. After a few days the side exposed to the air became rock hard. The tube is filled with air, so as we speak the paper ball is drying on the non aquatic side to "paper maché" :D
 
i once caught one of my girls drinking out of the toilet with a straw! Luckely it was clean water and there wheren no cleaning products in the water. She said she was "thirsty" she was about 2 years old then :eek:
 
Early Marraige, two kids, girls, 4.5 and 3. Renting Chicago Apartment, 2nd floor. No money, two working parents handing kids off to one another as we passed each other on the way to work.

Saved a few bucks, got a sanding machine to refinish the apartment's living room and dining room floors. Miserable experience. vacuumed, and vacuumed and dusted and vacuumed and finally got enough of the dust to get ready to put poly on the floor. Living was walking around everything which was moved to get it out of the way...the apartment was an obstacle course. We were young, able, and exhausted.

Came home from second job to find sobbing wife...sitting on floor in front room, leaning against a chair, gasping heaving sobs, beyond-language grief...

Looked further in the room.

The trim was being painted prior to using the poly. The three year-old had found the white paint can, open, and "played." Spills, footprints, puddles and hand prints of white paint were covering a fourth of the room.

Quickly, I got my wife up, washed her face in cold water, bundled up the kids, and took the three of them over to a near-by good friend's house.

It took about four hours of steady work to get that paint off the floor....I wanted to start crying.

except...

for one little baby footprint, near the wall moulding; a perfect imprint.

It's still there. The tears are gone, the frustration and exasperation are gone, the children are grown, the marraige is over, and my wife and I each live in different states. I covered over the foot print with poly, and to preserve it beneath the carpet we had eventually put on the floor. When I moved up to Wisconsin fourteen years after the episode, I left a note to preserve it . I've got a picture somewhere.

Such a precious little footprint. A part of my kid, my wife, and myself growing up.
 
My grandpa, uncles, and on occasion my father would tease me about cutting off my worm to take fishing for bait.
I remember when I was little that I would grab myself and run like hell away from them so they couldn't.
I didn't know that they were really just trying to get rid of me because I would break the freshly dug worms in half instead of breaking up the dirt they were embedded in.
And they did all the boys the same way. The girls were too god, or prissy to be caught dead out digging worms with the guys so they didn't get teased.
Besides they had already pulled theirs off anyway so were immune from having them cut from their body's, but us boys were scared!
When I got older and knew to know longer break the worms in half I was welcomed to dig worms with them men, a highlight in a boy's life, at least for us it was as fishing was an important affair!
Fishing in our family wasn't just for fun although it was, but meant a huge fried fish dinner when the men got home!
Fish was a welcome break from the fried chicken, pork chops, fresh side or fried salt pork that we kids often got for dinner.
But anyway, I digress....
Being brought up this way it was natural that I did the same thing with my own sons when they were little and trying to help dad dig worms, but broke more in half than they captured whole.
I always got a chuckle out of reaching for my pocketknife and saying, "I'm gonna cut your worm off and take it fishing with me!" and having them grab themselves and run like hell.
Some things don't change from one generation to the next.
But sometimes a man doesn't realize just how much a kid takes these things to heart....
One summer when my kids came to visit me during the summer for two weeks my oldest boy zipped his little tallywhacker up in his brand new bluejeans.
I was outside doing something, can't even rcall what it was, when I heard a blood curling scream from in the house.
I dropped whatever I was doing and made a beeline for the door scared to death as I knew my oldest son was hurt.
Of course everyone was in the tiny bathroom by the time I got there to see what was wrong.
I chased everyone out the door so I could see what I needed to do as my wife, at the time, was trying to unzip Sammy's pants past the skin and every time she would tug he would let out a sceam!
Hell, no wonder! I would've been doing the same! I got her to quit and kneeled down to see what I could do.
Sammy was hopelessly caught! He had not only zipped the skin, he had zipped past the skin and the zipper would freely work above but the instant you would zip down to where the skin was caught he couldn't take it, hell I doubt if I could've stood for it either!
Finally I decided there was only one thing I could do. I stood up, reached into my pocket and pulled my pocketknife out and started to open it while saying, Son, there's only one thing to do!" not thinking.
Sammy immediately covered his crotch with his hands and cried, Daddy! Daddy! Please Don't Cut It Off!!!!"
My thought's went to all of those times I had teased him about cutting off his worm and taking it fishing and all of the times I had been told the same thing and Just How Terrified it made me when I was just a little kid and my heart went out to him!
I reassured Sammy that I Was Not going to Cut IT Off, but that I was going to get him loose without it hurting him anymore.
Times were still hard for us and this was a brand New Pair of bluejeans but by Gawd it just didn't matter.
I pulled the spey blade that I always kept like a razor and cut the jeans below the zipper and simply pulled it apart, no more pain for my son!
Never again have I teased a little boy about cutting off his worm and taking it fishing.
 
Damn Munk! When it rains it pours huh? Poor bast$#d! I feel for you, I really do. First the truck, now this.

I can't think of too many things comparable. Thank God you found the mess when you did before it had a chance to spread any further.

I think the most frustrating thing that happened to me was when my wife, in her infinite idiocy (15 years ago and I still get mad thinking about it!) let my son "play" with my completely disassembled custom series '70 1911 at the little table workshop I had set up in our apt. I had worked all night and was exhausted, and slept till 1 pm. I came staggering out of the bedroom to find my wife sitting there cluelessly watching the tube, and my son enthusiastically destroying a gun it had taken me 10 years and almost $3 grand to build. We had cheap 2" thick green dormitory shag carpet as a holdover from the '70's, and my son had scattered every part throughout the house and into that damned filthy rug.

Sear and disconnector, mag release and SPRING, all the frame roll pins, tiny screws from the mag bumper pad, mainspring, firing pin and spring, oversized firing pin stop, titanium nitride barrel bushing, tuned and fitted extractor, custom checkered slide stop, torx grip screws, grip bushings, commander hammer, Videcki 3-hole trigger, guide rod & buffer, Wolff recoil spring, etc., etc., etc. Most of them one-off custom built parts. He also bent the fingers of the sear leaf spring all to hell. When I found him he was banging the muzzle of my $300 Briley barrel against the sides of the custom Zebrawood grips, and drawing with a black crayon on my formerly beautiful Bianchi holster and gun belt. The frame with Roguard finish was by the front door, the slide with the Grade 5 reblue and polish was scratched and the tritium night sights whacked. It took me two days to find the Devel SS 8 rd. mag body and spring.

It was one of those instances where you stand there in total freaking disbelief, almost removed from your body, and are unable to comprehend the enormity of the situation, or how incredibly stupid the person you married could possibly be.

"He's not hurting anything! He's just playing with it!" An hour later after I stopped screaming at her long enough to catch my breath, I told her that no matter what bills we had that I was going to spend several hundred dollars to get it fixed to EXACTLY the condition it had been in. At that point she finally shut up and realized (to a very small degree I'm sure), how inappropriate it was to have let him play with it. Being completely disassembled there was no danger of it firing, but many, many parts were lost. I spent 4 hours on my knees with a big magnet in each hand looking for parts, and I never did find all of them. What a day! I couldn't blame the boy for being 5 years old and curious, but I couldn't speak to my wife for a week.

You know when people say you will "look back on this in time and laugh"? We'll that's bulls&!t. But at least you'll get past it and move on!

Hang in there brother.

All the best,

Norm
 
Norm, your story reminds me of one my Best Friend John Camprose used to tell. His first wife would put a baby on the ironing board as she putted around, either ironing or cleaning or some damn thing, The baby would fall off.

When he complained, she assured him it was OK, couldn't happen again; she was on the lookout. He watched in horror as another fell off.

He divorced her eventually.

This has nothing to do with anything, but John eventually married Nettie, an ENORMOUS fat lady with a heart of gold. John was NEVER so happy. They adored one another.

Camprose was the second individual I'd ever met who could make the Old Testament come alive, no longer a stale dark forbidding and condeming book. He is missed.

Had he lived, I can tell you he would have gotten a kick out of my Khukuri obsession, and would be carrying one today.

>>>>>>>>

We all do stupid things. I still remember leaving my 20" AK out in the wood box. I never figured little Keith would even find it let alone pick it up, but I probably just forgot I'd left it there. I told this story before: I saw him out of the corner of my eye from my seat at the computer desk, holding the large steel by the blade.

I broke two toes getting to him, but I got the blade out of his hands and he was unmarred. He's always the one wanting to cut wood.

BTW; here is the actual blessing said at our table for Christmas by the four year old Travis:
"God is Great, God is Good, He Gave Us Khukuris for the Wood."

Now you see why I like the little fiend so much.


munk
 
Ben, do you have any idea what it costs to call a Plumber from Rural Montana? I'm not Neil Young with his private ranch. When the plumber arrives at my door, I already owe him a hundred dollars.



munk
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top