Ball In The Toilet!

"Daddy, I dropped a ball into the toilet and then flushed it, and now the toilet's broken, so we can't use it anymore, okay?"

At least Andy had the sense to tell a grown up what he had done.  You'll notice that the grown up was laid-back Daddy, not HOW MUCH IS THIS GOING TO COST ME Mommy.  The answer to that question was $93.  The ball "fell" into the toilet, Andy decided to flush it (WHY!??), and the water came up and swirled around like it was waiting for Noah's ark.  Since we couldn't plunge the ball out, we figured some guy would have to come over, detach the toilet, flip it upside down, and pluck the ball out like a cherry from a kiddie cocktail.  Turns out, the guy comes over with his super plunger / snaking tool (three hours late) and just shoves it further down into the house pipes.  I fully expect to see that ball float up to my drain during a future shower.  Followed by an explosion for some reason.

Andy "broke" the toilet the week we decided to start giving him an allowance.  He gets up to $3 per week, and he earns his $3 by doing his homework and reading without complaint and helping with the occasional chore, such as table setting, playroom cleaning, or laundry folding.  Although it pains me to watch him fold the laundry.  It's a two hour process involving slow, careful folding of underwear and individual socks, and I have to physically restrain myself from jumping in and just taking the thirty seconds to just finish up.

Alex was pretty ticked off about Andy getting an allowance, especially because he loves money. Specifically, he loves the things that money can buy, and he's extremely annoyed by the first item that Andy has so sweetly chosen to save up for:  a doll for his little sister.  Emily is lacking in girl toys, and my little fifteen month old is reduced to babbling along to Batman figures and creepy looking dinosaurs.  However, if you've seen the disaster that is our playroom, crammed full of crap and always in disarray, you will understand that I am actively seeking to get rid of toys, not gain more toys, gender orientation be damned.  Emily will have to learn to cope with the glut of boy toys and the one girl toy she does have, a pink picnic basket (because men hate picnics).  I fully expect her Barbie (the one that Andy has committed to buying her) to slut it up with a bevy of superhero men.  She may be the luckiest Barbie in town, actually.  She'll be thrilled to date Batman, Superman, and Iron Man.  The only amazing thing Ken ever did was to buy a lifelong supply of flesh colored briefs.

Alex, the consumer of the family and the one voted most likely to file for chapter 13 bankruptcy, constantly rattles off lists of toys he wants to acquire.  As he spends about a quarter of his day glued to toy demonstrations on You-Tube, he's kept current in the latest toy fads.  His speech also reflects this devotion to toy videos.  "Check out the features of my Bat-Cave," he said to me last week.  "Would you like to see how many power discs it has?"  Mumbling to himself one day while setting up the car race track, I heard him say, "Actually, this is a pretty deluxe set."  He will also tell me the recommended target age for various toys.  "I'd like the Bat-Cycle, with two power discs.  Don't worry, it's ages four and up!"

When he's not scouting out new items to purchase, Alex is pretty content to just sit and set up his superhero sets, mumbling little conversations to them.  Emily is good at this, too.  She'll grab a Spiderman and start talking to it in that sing-song way of hers, bobbing her head up and down in agreement.  Emily, at fifteen months, likes toys.  She likes her pink teddy bear.  She loves to sing along to Baa Baa Black Sheep.  She adores Andy, annoys Alex.  She is quick to anger and is the queen of temper tantrums, but she is also a champion snuggler, hooking that little thumb of hers into her mouth and hugging in close.  She loves shoes, hates hats.  And she's probably the most amazing dancer in the family.  She shimmies, she shakes, she nods to the music.  She's so perfectly adorable, it's easy to see why Andy wants to buy her that doll.

This is a standard plunger.  Worthless.

But, of course, Andy broke the toilet, and now that we're giving him his own money, it's only fair that some of that money be withheld to help cover the cost of child-induced household repairs.  I threatened to keep his allowance every week until the plumber was fully paid off, but that would be 31 weeks, and even I don't have the heart to do that.  "I'm keeping your allowance this one week to help pay for the plumber," I finally decided, aloud, after the plumber had left, merrily swinging his super plunger/snaking tool and patting his fat wallet.  "I hope you learned a lesson."

"I did," Andy said morosely.  "I really, really learned a lesson."

And, of course he did.  So, ultimately, payday rolled around two days later, and I approached him with a single dollar bill in my hand.  A little something since we all make mistakes and he was an exceptional kid otherwise.  A little something since his teacher emailed me to tell me how wonderful he is. Since he jumps in to help without being prodded.  A little something since I spent half my childhood avoiding my uncle after accidentally breaking the door to his laundry room. We have to get past our mistakes.  Unless that ball comes to haunt me during a shower, it's over, and I'll let it go.

Alex watched very carefully as Andy tucked his dollar bill into the tupperware container he's using as his money bank.  We all trust Alex not to steal, and in my heart of hearts I don't think he would.  But if you see him rolling around town with a new deluxe Imaginext toy set
featuring power discs, then you might want to ask if Emily ever got her doll.