...is the sound of a toilet flushing when you are in another room.
For us, this happened yesterday. It was after lunch and I was washing dishes in the sink in the kitchen. The Bear had scampered off to get a few more minutes of truck-play in before nap time. I thought he was in the living room, but then I heard the toilet flush.
And I froze.
What exactly did he just flush?
A quick survey of my surroundings yielded this:
Engagement ring? Check.
Wedding ring? Check.
Watch? Yup.
Car keys? Too high for him to reach - not a concern.
TV remote? Well, we'll figure that one out.
Teeny-tiny car? He has so many cars, there is no way I'd be able to determine if he had flushed one.
I needed to investigate.
I met a very smiley Bear in the bathroom moments later. With a giant grin, he exclaimed, "Froggie go in bubble tub!"
And my heart sank.
Froggie? Froggie got flushed? The same tiny blanket that I had just spent a week blogging about? The Froggie that I only bought one of, so if he did indeed get flushed, there is no way to replace Scotty's beloved lovey? And what is a plumber going to cost me?
Oh God Brian is going to kill me...
The inquisition started. "Did you flush Froggie?" "Yes! Yes I did!" "No, Scott - I'm asking you - did you put Froggie in the potty and flush him?" "Yes! Froggie go bubble tub! Froggie in potty!"
And with that, I plunged my glove-covered hand (thank you, dishwater) into the potty and began rooting around for Froggie.
Unless we have the greatest suction in a toilet known to man, Froggie was not in the nearby vicinity. Either he was already making friends in the sewage pipe (and I'm minutes away from the most expensive toilet repair in recent memory), or he was not flushed.
Once I removed my hand from the toilet (so disgusting, let me tell you), I did a quick lap of the house. Froggie was not in the family room, not in the living room, not outside on the patio, and did not appear to be in the bathroom. Finally, I found him smushed in a corner in the closet. Dry, unharmed, and non-flushed. Oh thank heavens.
Scotty grabbed for Froggie (once I had removed my gloves after disinfecting them) like the past five minutes had not happened. He marched over to the washing machine, pointed to it, and stated, "Froggie go in bubble tub! Froggie dirty!"
Ooooh. I get it. He wants to wash the frog, not flush him.
Needless to say, we'll be working on clarifying potentially disturbing messages prior to alerting Mom. 'Cause Lord knows I don't want to go sticking my arm into any more toilets.
For us, this happened yesterday. It was after lunch and I was washing dishes in the sink in the kitchen. The Bear had scampered off to get a few more minutes of truck-play in before nap time. I thought he was in the living room, but then I heard the toilet flush.
And I froze.
What exactly did he just flush?
A quick survey of my surroundings yielded this:
Engagement ring? Check.
Wedding ring? Check.
Watch? Yup.
Car keys? Too high for him to reach - not a concern.
TV remote? Well, we'll figure that one out.
Teeny-tiny car? He has so many cars, there is no way I'd be able to determine if he had flushed one.
I needed to investigate.
I met a very smiley Bear in the bathroom moments later. With a giant grin, he exclaimed, "Froggie go in bubble tub!"
And my heart sank.
Froggie? Froggie got flushed? The same tiny blanket that I had just spent a week blogging about? The Froggie that I only bought one of, so if he did indeed get flushed, there is no way to replace Scotty's beloved lovey? And what is a plumber going to cost me?
Oh God Brian is going to kill me...
The inquisition started. "Did you flush Froggie?" "Yes! Yes I did!" "No, Scott - I'm asking you - did you put Froggie in the potty and flush him?" "Yes! Froggie go bubble tub! Froggie in potty!"
And with that, I plunged my glove-covered hand (thank you, dishwater) into the potty and began rooting around for Froggie.
Unless we have the greatest suction in a toilet known to man, Froggie was not in the nearby vicinity. Either he was already making friends in the sewage pipe (and I'm minutes away from the most expensive toilet repair in recent memory), or he was not flushed.
Once I removed my hand from the toilet (so disgusting, let me tell you), I did a quick lap of the house. Froggie was not in the family room, not in the living room, not outside on the patio, and did not appear to be in the bathroom. Finally, I found him smushed in a corner in the closet. Dry, unharmed, and non-flushed. Oh thank heavens.
Scotty grabbed for Froggie (once I had removed my gloves after disinfecting them) like the past five minutes had not happened. He marched over to the washing machine, pointed to it, and stated, "Froggie go in bubble tub! Froggie dirty!"
Ooooh. I get it. He wants to wash the frog, not flush him.
Needless to say, we'll be working on clarifying potentially disturbing messages prior to alerting Mom. 'Cause Lord knows I don't want to go sticking my arm into any more toilets.
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