I have flashbacks of a memory that still makes me laugh. It usually hits me suddenly (POW! WHAM! BAM!) when I'm cleaning the toilet.
Everson and I were living with my parents at the time. The house was silent. You know that hush, pin-drop, quiet as a mouse, all-cliches-used-at-once, quiet. Definitely too peaceful for my 2-year-old boy and my 9-year-old niece who were always fighting.
I found them in the bathroom. What I saw made my heart drop to my belly, made my eyes burn, made my nostrils swell, made my reflux bubble up, until I was gagging.
Green. I was green. I was an unflattering shade of 80's chartreuse.
I screamed. I screamed until every bit of oxygen was extinguished, and I was left lightheaded. I eventually caught my breath and screamed again. I JUST COULDN'T STOP SCREAMING!
My beautiful niece who had been brushing her teeth and primping in the mirror looked bewildered. Startled. Shook to the core. Her doe-like, soulful, honey brown eyes of hers succumbing to the terror in my voice. I could see the tears forming, gleaming, glistening in her eyes in the glare of the 70 watt bathroom light bulb.
She looked and saw what I saw. The tears were now falling apologetically. She understood my horror.
I stopped screaming and composed myself. My 2 year-old dropped the toilet brush he tried to cram in his small mouth. He looked equally as terrified. "What mommy? I brush my teeth too," he said proudly.
I turned to my niece. I was shaking like a leaf. "Weren't you watching him?"
Her gaze darted to her feet. She was shuffling nervously. "I didn't know," she whispered, her voice cracking, crumbling away in the air. A fresh batch of tears came.
"It's okay," I said. "I'm sorry I yelled. He will be fine." I think.
I know.
She was probably thinking the same thing I was, "What possessed him to use a toilet bowl brush?"
I scrubbed his mouth the best I could with toothpaste and mouthwash. I considered using a blow torch. Maybe bleach. By now, I was in tears. I called poison control. Despite the urgency and desperation in my voice, the operator laughed. She tried very hard to be professional, courteous, considerate, but every other word came out as laughter.
I screamed. I screamed until every bit of oxygen was extinguished, and I was left lightheaded. I eventually caught my breath and screamed again. I JUST COULDN'T STOP SCREAMING!
My beautiful niece who had been brushing her teeth and primping in the mirror looked bewildered. Startled. Shook to the core. Her doe-like, soulful, honey brown eyes of hers succumbing to the terror in my voice. I could see the tears forming, gleaming, glistening in her eyes in the glare of the 70 watt bathroom light bulb.
She looked and saw what I saw. The tears were now falling apologetically. She understood my horror.
I stopped screaming and composed myself. My 2 year-old dropped the toilet brush he tried to cram in his small mouth. He looked equally as terrified. "What mommy? I brush my teeth too," he said proudly.
I turned to my niece. I was shaking like a leaf. "Weren't you watching him?"
Her gaze darted to her feet. She was shuffling nervously. "I didn't know," she whispered, her voice cracking, crumbling away in the air. A fresh batch of tears came.
"It's okay," I said. "I'm sorry I yelled. He will be fine." I think.
I know.
She was probably thinking the same thing I was, "What possessed him to use a toilet bowl brush?"
I scrubbed his mouth the best I could with toothpaste and mouthwash. I considered using a blow torch. Maybe bleach. By now, I was in tears. I called poison control. Despite the urgency and desperation in my voice, the operator laughed. She tried very hard to be professional, courteous, considerate, but every other word came out as laughter.
"He is ...ha ha...fine...if you are... ha ha concerned ...hhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaa...take him to the ER. He may get sick but .....oh....hahaha.....he should be fine."
I hung up, I was so mad. Obviously, she didn't know what a toilet bowl brush was used for.
But then, strangely enough, two days laughter I popped up in bed laughing. Suddenly, the hilarity of how it all must of sounded hit me. I couldn't stop laughing.
It's amazing how things we witness in life mean something different one day to the next. Our perceptions are always changing. Life seems difficult when we are in the moment, going through the motions, SURVIVING, but when it's over, we handled it.
Moral MOMent: You can't scrub your mouth with a dirty brush and expect to have a clean mouth.
I hung up, I was so mad. Obviously, she didn't know what a toilet bowl brush was used for.
But then, strangely enough, two days laughter I popped up in bed laughing. Suddenly, the hilarity of how it all must of sounded hit me. I couldn't stop laughing.
It's amazing how things we witness in life mean something different one day to the next. Our perceptions are always changing. Life seems difficult when we are in the moment, going through the motions, SURVIVING, but when it's over, we handled it.
Moral MOMent: You can't scrub your mouth with a dirty brush and expect to have a clean mouth.
