Anyone who knows me knows this to be true, but sometimes I have to say it out loud to remind myself that they aren't still in first and third grade, needing me to stick the straw in their Capri Suns.
Not really. But the time is marching on. Aaron will be in high school next year, and Ethan is just four months away from having a driver's license. They're good boys, by and large, and present a respectable, responsible (sort of) picture of fine young men to the world.
Except for Saturday.
Saturday afternoon, Nolan and I were driving around, looking for a house for my Dad, who is moving to Amarillo in just two weeks. They didn't want to go with us, so we dropped the boys off at the house with a list of chores to be completed. My phone rings, and no sooner than I say, "Hello," than Aaron screams, "HAND THE PHONE TO DAD!"
You just never want to hear that.
I comply, though, because although I am a modern woman, capable of triage and problem-solving, there is a clear division of labor in our household, and our boys know this. If there is an emotional issue, or something that needs to be cleaned, or some sort of acting emergency, I've got it. For everything else: Nolan Kyle.
If you don't have or know teenage boys, turn back now. I can't be held responsible for what follows.
As it turns out, one of the boys needed to use the restroom, and went in to befoul my pristine, girly powder bath. The one for which I picked out toile wallpaper, a crystal chandelier, vintage octagonal tile floor, and an awesome black and white, polka dot, wool rug. The other boy decided that he wanted to use that particular restroom, and decided to try to beat the first boy to the toilet.
Because the other THREE COMMODES in our house simply wouldn't do. Of course they wouldn't. Puh-leeze.
A scuffle ensued. The details are sketchy, but long story short, they actually wrestled in the powder bath and broke the tank of the toilet. There was water everywhere, and the shouty order from my second born child demanding me to hand over the phone to his father was to get some information on how to stop the water from running all over the house and ruining floors, rugs, baseboards, his chance of living to see fourteen, etc.
Nolan calmly informed them something I could have told them ("Righty tighty, Lefty Loosey), and Nolan hung up after he gave instructions to clean everything up.
When we got home, we noticed a sign on the closed toilet lid.
Ethan, Aaron and Ruby
Why they dragged the puppy into it, I have no idea. Deflection, perhaps? Both boys maintain that she had a rather large part to play. Perhaps she was even the toilet-breaking mastermind behind the whole affair, but I can't get any of the $470 dollars of the cost of the brand new toilet (Because ours was discontinued) we had to purchase out of the dog.
The boys, though? They have a LOT of yard work to do to make amends. Maybe even a whole summer's worth. And they are henceforth banned from the powder bath.
The best part? Nolan told them to clean everything up.
When I went to do laundry earlier this week, I found that they'd done just that. They put my aforementioned, awesome, black and white, polka-dot wool rug in the washing machine.
On hot, apparently.
So I have a brand new potty and a brand new... trivet?