Wilder by Far

A look at life with the Wilder family. Updated most weekends and some vacation days. You can contact me at movingnorth@gmail.com..

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Location: United States

Sunday, March 04, 2007

"It wasn't chewing gum. It was epoxy glue. And all of a sudden you know a whole damn lot about submarines." - Rock Hudson, Ice Station Zebra

The four-bolt on-wall toilet. My nemesis.

It continues.

The Mrs. had enough of me working every weekend getting the house in “Wilder” shape. I’ve got a list as long as an Adam Sandler movie, but every weekend it never seems to get shorter.

The Mrs. enforced a weekend without (mostly) work. It was glorious. I slept. I drank beer. I’m not sure that there’s much else that enriches life, besides randomly yelling at your children. I know, I know, I could beat them, but that takes too much energy. Stupid children, running and stuff.

Anyhow, Saturday involved a large amount of sleeping. It was time. I’ve been either working or, well, working at home enough that it was cutting into my drinking family time. Unfortunately, like the Fox Network, I have high standards, yet a low budget.

As The Mrs. talked me into not working, I slyly whispered “Except for fixing the toilet,” into her ear. I’m sneaky that way, since I knew it would take forever to fix the toilet. Okay, really I thought it would take about fifteen minutes. I usually underestimate these things, so, fifteen minutes translates to fifteen hours or so.

I guess I under estimated.

When last we left, well, the toilet was fixed, and fixed properly, but just not quite right. I had to fix it one last time. It turns out that there is truly a limit to the number of times that a man who has been drinking can pull a fragile porcelain toilet off four bolts and not drop it and put a horrible hole into the toilet so that it no longer holds water.

I guess that number is five.

I went to Home Despot, and bought a tube of porcelain patching epoxy (the hole was quite roundish and small), and completed adding epoxy (The Boy’s comment: “We can afford epoxy? We’re rich!!!!”) and caulked the toilet with massive amounts of caulk. It’s all hooked up to the wall, and ready for, well, whatever it is one does in a toilet. In 24 short hours, well, I’ll turn the water on to the American Standard toilet made on January 13, 1987. Maybe I’ll never have to think about it again. Please.

After spending hours on the toilet, well, I joined The Mrs. in the front room. It’s been coldish the last two days, so I thought I’d burn a crutch or two and a footstool to warm us up, along with some particle board that was a college shelf for my books. (I have no idea where the cinder blocks went.)

As I was sitting basking in the warmth of burning crutches, one pane of the glass door keeping the fire in the fireplace exploded.

I began sweeping up the shards of glass, and, recalling that if the door to the fireplace is just a smidge open an alarm that you can hear in North Carolina begins to shriek, I put the first thing that came to hand in front of the door. It was a nice cardboard moving box. Thankfully, The Mrs. remarked that boxes fall into the category of things that are “flammable.”

I pulled the box down, and began to work the hot coals in the fire, moving them apart so that the fire would die down soon.

So, tonight brought a broken toilet and an exploding fireplace.

I’m still trying to epoxy the 1,743,312 pieces that the fireplace door went into when it shattered. I guess I need to buy a new one, if for nothing else than to keep Pugsley, our 19 month-old from eating all the glass.

That's okay. We’re rich. We can afford epoxy.

5 Comments:

Blogger SusanE said...

Glad the toilets working...

It's been a difficult adjustment but I'm making the transition from Wilder in Alaska to Wilder in Texas.

Your life reads a little like mine. If it can break, it will!

9:03 AM  
Anonymous The Mrs. said...

Okay, three things here:

1)The glass did not shatter on its own. A piece of wood fell against it and broke it. I know this because I was sitting right next to it and watched it happen. Then I picked the glass out of my eyeballs before fetching the broom.

2)When I saw the patch job on the toilet and asked what happened --
JW: It came off too hard.
TM: You mean you dropped it.
JW: It sounds better when I say It came off too hard.

3) Pugsley is 22 months old. Try and keep up, honey.

1:52 PM  
Blogger Dame Koldfoot said...

(In the "Mother knows best" voice):

Be thankful, John Wilder, that you even have a toilet. There are kids in Africa that still squat on the ground to do their business. THEY would be thankful for an old broken toilet.

Do you ever have the feeling you're getting it from all sides?

12:00 PM  
Anonymous CWH said...

It's time to weigh in on the subject. Does any man really think his wife knows more about the kids in the house better than him? I thought not, I believe Pugsly must be closer to 19 months than 22.

And I have photos of some asian kids squatting right out in public, so on that point she is right.

7:10 PM  
Blogger John said...

The Mrs.,
1. No. There were physical properties of thermodynamics and the whole enthalpy thing. Plus other, ummm, stress related stuff. Quit whining.

2. Okay, I had been drinking. This does not make me the Britney Spears of toilet fixing. Maybe the Sean Penn, but not the Britney Spears.

3. 22 months. Hmmm. Seems, well, almost as large as a teenager. My bad.

dame koldfoot,
I have . . . not one . . . not two . . not three . . but FOUR places to poop. Well, five if you include the lawn. Six if you include the tile entry. Seven if you include the garage.

I must say that you are mistaken. The kids in Africa would, well, like to poop on the ground. I mean, I would. But The Mrs. says the dogs are bad enough.

And they're her dogs.

Yes.

CWH,
See, I'm with you. Pugsly is closer to 19 months old than 22 years. The Mrs. is smoking crack.

Why do Asian kids squat in public?

They can.

5:51 PM  

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