The downstairs toilet is leaking. Again. Honestly, in the almost four years we have lived here I have had a plumber repair that stupid, stupid toilet three different times. The wax seal has been replaced twice. If you didn't know that the only thing standing between you and an open sewage drain is a big ole' wax seal then I'm sorry for stealing your innocence.
It is a mystery why that toilet keeps leaking. I ponder if my children are particularly hard on toilets. Do they rock the toilet? Or bounce? I don't know. It seems like they wouldn't do anything stupid like that but then, let me tell you this story.
Back in Virginia, when they were both in elementary school, Maddie and Katie used to share a bedroom with two twin beds in it. One Saturday Katie's wooden frame completely cracked. When we asked how it happened she kept insisting that she was "just sitting on it."
Later we learned through the time honored tradition of sibling tattling that Katie had been repeatedly leaping from her desk to her bed. You know, just for fun. So obviously I can't trust what my kids tell me about the toilet. "We just sit on it," they say, but who really knows?
And that is what is weighing heavy on my mind tonight. And it feels good to share.