Motherhood in NYC

You’ll be relived to know that yesterday’s clogged toilet dilemma was resolved when Husbandrinka came home and taught me how to flush the toilet. Apparently, I haven’t been holding the handle long enough. He said I have to hold it until I see “the whirlpool action” which makes toilet flushing sound almost exotic. I’m very worried that the fact that I had to be schooled in this subject means that when people ask “who is the idiot for whom self-flushing toilets are designed” the answer is Marinka.

But anyway.

To celebrate my new toilet wisdom, I am sharing some Up Close and Personal Q&A over at The Mouthy Housewives. There’s even a photo! Of me!

And more great news (for me).

I joined the Million Moms Challenge Community as a Community Leader. I am honored to be invited and a little bit nervous. Hopefully there will be no toilet flushing test or anything.

Today is my first conversation over there, about the challenges that sometimes come with breastfeeding. It’s a different thing than what I usually do, so I hope you’ll visit me there.

Have a great weekend! (Is it me or was this week endless?)

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I am sick with a cold/flu situation and my toilet is clogged and try as I might to put my usual optimistic spin on this experience, I just can’t seem to get it together.

Mostly because I’ve been trying to battle the toilet for the past hour and what I’m smelling is definitely not victory.

There is just absolutely no good news about a clogged toilet. In case you’re trying to reignite the romantic flame with your partner, this, apparently, is not the way to do it. I know because last Friday, after being gone for a week, Husbandrinka texted me that he landed at Newark, and I texted back “not a moment too soon! Both toilets are clogged!” and he didn’t text back “can’t wait to come home and see you and the toilets!” As a matter of fact, he texted back the very opposite of that and has since left me and the children. Just kidding, he still sees the children.

But in my defense, I unclogged one of the toilets with a plunger last week and then today, just as I was recovering from that experience, the toilet clogged again.

I know what you’re thinking: Young Ladrinka, he of the storing the banana peel in the toilet. Or perhaps Mama and Papa with their deodorant down the toilet hijinks. And those are strong thoughts, but, sadly for me, I was home alone at the time. I’d used the bathroom for the daintiest of numbers one, tossed a square and a half of the softest toilet paper in, and flushed.

And then the unthinkable started to happen. The water in the bowl started to rise.

Is there a more terrifying sight? I said the prayer right away: Dear Porcelain Deity, please make the waters retreat and not spilleth over. I will do anything you ask. I will not mistreat the toilet again. I will never use it again. I will plant a garden in it instead and honor it as my forefathers had done.

But my prayers fell on deaf toilet ears and yes, it did overflow.

And I, in my cold/flu/ebola illness, was forced to mop up the floor.

And then I plunged the toilet.

And then I flushed it.

And then the waters rose again.

OMFG.

This time, the Eau de Toilette stopped just short of the bowl lip. So, on the one hand, success. On the other hand, no one can ever use the toilet again.

I don’t see why that should be a problem, do you? What is this obsession with going to the bathroom all the time, anyway? It’s about time we as a society became a bit more retentive. This confessional society isn’t doing any of us any favors.

There. I’m feeling better already.

(Oh, and if anyone thinks I should call the super who, you know, is paid to deal with clogs, that is entirely too easy for someone with my sensibilities. That is, insanity. Because it is hard for me to invite someone over to look into my toilet. But I’m working on it!)

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