For the day after the day after Christmas Eve, my family celebrated by doing the thing that all families are so good at doing: splitting up. My sister and mother have been appointed Pair Productive and my father and I have are Pair Out and About (technically 'pair' is a misnomer as we went along with my wonderful 9 year old niece, but she's in training, yet, so does not get to count as a whole member (no voting rights) of the pair and there is no single descriptive word for 2 and a half).
But, I am not going to tell you about the day. Not yet.
We regrouped this evening and my father and sister took the Christmas decorations out to the shed (productive, see) and I helped Mama in the kitchen by blathering on and making a pot of tea and doing some dishes while she made dinner and tried to keep the 2 year old from getting too much in the way (boiling water type stuff). Dinner ended and the puzzle was brought out. it's a mary engelbreit-brecht-brucetta-whatever. It is a round puzzle. Not a sphere, but round.
the 2 year old was dressed in his pajamas, laid down in his bed and left there. we knew there would be no sleep. we knew this. we sent my niece upstairs to lock all of the doors and the gate. she came back down, we chatted about Jorge's toilet playing habits, ha ha ha.
i began reading, as i had promised my wonderful 9 year old niece (i am learning on this trip more about the value of trust in relationships. mostly i am learning it because of Ethel and her presence on this vacation. she lets me drape her around my shoulders and will stay there for many moments only minimally supported and without complaint, until she is ready to hop down . she hasn't hurt me yet on her descent. yet.) and my family collected around the dining room table to put together the round puzzle of letters and bowls and cherries and a cute cat.
and then there was the sound of water falling on the kitchen floor. coming from the light in the ceiling.
what followed:
Papa ran upstairs to find my nephew stark naked in the bathroom surrounded by water flowing happily into and out of the bowl of the toilet.
my nephew found himself standing in the hallway crying in surprise and because he got swatted once on the butt to get him out of the bathroom where he had created this playland for himself.
my nephew then found himself in dry pajamas and a new diaper, in bed, with the door closed, much to his very loud chagrin.
my mother came upstairs to get big towels to help collect the water from the floor of the kitchen.
i worked kid magic and got doors open so that the dream of dry floors could be realized.
my sister put a bowl under the light through which the water was running which we then stood and watched until the flow had subsided to a drip and then to nothing (i believe that we truly could sit and watch paint dry if we felt it was the thing to do).
the plunger was applied with great vigor to the toilet upstairs, to no avail.
it was decided that though my nephew usually just clogs the toilet with toilet paper, this time he must have dropped something stubborn (but not feline, all the cats are accounted for) into his favorite play area.
very quietly we all agreed that it was really very funny.
the grumpy emergency maintenance man came and said that he'll have to be back tomorrow to really fix things, but that my sister shouldn't expect him before 3.
we all hate the emergency maintenance man.
the cats are fine.
oh, and my sister did turn off the light that became a fount of water not unlike a breast spewing a steady stream of slightly off-white milk.
and now?
everyone is in bed. the book i was reading out loud (remember that part?) is still unfinished and my nephew is still trying to get out of going to sleep.
the couch awaits me. i get to spend some time alone in DC tomorrow, and will have to sleep in my clothes again tonight.
oh, and we gave up on the puzzle about 5 minutes before i knelt down to write this. they will finish it tomorrow. i have faith.
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