Blame It on the (T)Rain

Meet Ivo Hugh.

He's a little train from the little (imaginary) island of Sodor.  He knows Thomas the Tank Engine, and Percy, and James, and Gordon, and all the rest of the good trains on Sodor.  But not too long ago, this little train became an unwitting part of a big, BIG problem

Meet Shav.

He's a little boy who lives here in our household.  He's quite adorable, if I do say so myself; and he's deeply loved and cherished by the other members of our household.  But not too long ago, this little boy became a part of Ivo Hugh's big, BIG problem.  And frankly, it was all Shav's fault.

Two weeks ago was when it happened - on a Saturday busy with David's soccer game in the morning and Josiah's choir retreat in the afternoon.  In the interim between those two events, we were enjoying a welcome bit of downtime at home.  The boys were all quietly occupied with various activities.  There was peace in our home.  I was able to prepare the grapes I needed to take to the retreat without intervening in a single dispute or "discussion."  Lovely!  Relaxing!  Rare!

Only later did we realize that there was a problem; but just what the problem was, we weren't sure.  What we did know, as we discovered late that afternoon, was that the upstairs toilet was clogged.  Of course, the normal first step is to reach for the plunger.  When that didn't accomplish the intended result, we began to ponder just what the problem might be.  I remembered that I had discovered that Shav's shirt cuffs were wet that morning, and I had suspected at the time that he might have dipped his hands in the toilet (the thought of which makes me cringe and gag, but doesn't seem to be off-putting to our resident two-year-old).  I had thoroughly washed his hands and arms, put a new shirt on him, then urged him to please NEVER play in the toilet water again!  I hadn't noticed anything unusual lurking at the bottom of the toilet, so I didn't give it a second thought...

...until the toilet wouldn't flush right.  At that point, it wasn't difficult to guess that Shav must have put something down the toilet; and knowing his love for flushing, we surmised that he must have pressed the handle and watched the lovely whirlpool sucking down whatever item he had deposited in it.  But what could it be?  

Our first guess was a diaper; maybe Shav had picked one up from the nearby trashcan and deposited it in the toilet?  Could a diaper fit down the hole in the toilet and disappear from sight, only to be caught later in the curve of the pipe?  How long exactly would it take a diaper to dissolve and be able to be flushed all the way down?  Do diapers ever dissolve anyway??  

Second guess was a sock.  Our laundry chute for dirty clothes is in the bathroom, and Shav loves to help by picking up dirty clothes and sending them flying down the chute.  Maybe he thought it would be fun to send it down the toilet instead?

At that point, we were out of guesses; but we knew what needed to be done.  Jeff got to work (and I thanked God again for giving me a husband like Jeff!).  When the plunger didn't have any positive effect, he got his plumber's snake (is that what it's called?) and started using that.  Surely that would bring up whatever item was clogging up the works. 

Not so.  Still stuck.

After he had worked with that thing for quite a long time, twisting it this way and that, he finally came to the conclusion that he would just have to take the whole toilet off its foundation and work at it that way.  At this point, I steered clear of the bathroom because the stench was enough to make me want to spill the contents of my stomach; and that's not the kind of spilling I like to talk about on this blog.  ;-)

I won't go into details.  Really, I can't go into details.  I don't know them.  I was staying as far away as I could.  But whatever object was in the toilet WOULD NOT BUDGE.  Not when Jeff worked from the top of the toilet; not when he worked from the bottom.  What in the world could it be???

As a last resort, Jeff carried the whole stinkin' toilet down the steps, through the kitchen, and out to the patio. He then got our garden hose and used that flow of water to flush (literally) the pipes.  The very last step he could think of before taking a sledgehammer to the thing was to use the end of the hose as a ram to pound against the object in hopes of dislodging it.

Wouldn't you know, that did it.  And out came you-know-who...

 ...a very sorry-looking, slightly beat-up train. Mystery solved.

After a very thorough bath (first with the garden hose, second with soap and a vigorous scrubbing, and third in the dishwasher), Ivo Hugh came out cleaner than ever, but missing quite a bit of paint around the edges.  I think we'll leave him that way.  I suppose it will serve to remind me, every time I see him, of the big adventure he went on, at the hands of one little boy.  When all of this happened, it wasn't the least bit funny.  It was dirty, smelly, disgusting, and most of all, FRUSTRATING.  But I'm pretty sure this is the kind of story that will get more hilarious as time goes by.  I'm hoping anyway.  Meanwhile...

So long, Ivo Hugh.  It's time for you to head back to the lovely island of Sodor (a.k.a. the train table in Tobin's room) and rejoin your comrades there.  May you have many more adventures as the days go by - hopefully, of the cleaner, less-watery sort.  And one word of warning:  if you ever see that little boy named Shav come close to you...

...CHUG AWAY AS FAST AS YOU CAN!!!!!

;-)