It was bound to happen, and today was the day.
Capping off a return home from the grandparents for Thanksgiving, a work day full of time-consuming projects that would not be finished and required multiple trips to Home Depot, mommy with the flu and a sore throat not allowing her much voice, daddy with an aching back, high out-of-daddy's-reach (ack! dangerous!) tree climbing by Tadpole, excessive whining from a cold-stricken Tigger with red chapped cheeks, 2-year old Cubby's post birthday party letdown, and itchy day 11 of baby Quatro's who-knows-what-caused-it rash, was this:
Tadpole decided to experiment with how much toilet paper he could stuff into the potty. And the floods came. And the mommy screamed for help. And the rugs got soaked. And the realization that we have no plunger hit. And the daddy had to reach in and fish out all the jammed toilet paper. And the bathroom had to be cleaned. And the floors had to be mopped. And the washing machine had to be utilized.
Thank goodness Baba was here to rescue us and show us how to shut the water off quickly before the water reached the hallway carpet. (In the moment, grabbing the camera was far from my mind. Bummer.)
To his credit, we probably have never point blank explained to Tadpole that the toilet cannot handle more than a few wipes worth of paper. He did look wide-eyed and innocent enough when we called him down from his tall tree to investigate the damage and threaten him that it had better not EVER happen again.
But with three more younger, curious boys? Ah, should I be so lucky...