Friday, April 4, 2008

stinky caca poopy


Yesterday morning after John flushed the toilet upstairs I heard a "bloop bloop" bubbling sound coming from the toilet downstairs. We investigated to find that the water level was high. We flushed it and everything seemed okay. Later in the afternoon the downstairs tub was filled with gunky residue that looked like it had backwashed up the drain and then seeped (the liquid, anyway) back down.

Fast forward to 7:00 p.m. Luciya is asleep and as I'm sneaking into the room to check on her I notice Stenchy McStenchfart seeping from the bathroom. It was too, too gross. Foul sh*t water and soggy brown toilet paper had poured from beneath the closed lid of the toilet and was sitting about 4 inches deep in the bathtub. In the laundry room, a drain in the floor had overflowed to make a nice round puddle.

The plumber made it here at about 9:30 pm and was here until 11:00. We scoured the front lawn, with the help of two neighbors and one flashlight, for signs of a valve to the septic tank. (Never found one). The plumber returned at 9:00 this morning (and yes, I peed in the back yard last night - twice and went to Stroller Strides this morning stinky and un-showered). They removed both toilets, replaced one (ca-ching), and ran a camera snake through the hole left by the other one (ca-ching, ca-ching), where they discovered the roots of the giant tree in the front yard had broken through decades-old pipes to block the flow of "solids."

They managed to clear the pipes for what may be a week, may be a month. We'll be able to use the toilet and showers until they have to come again (ca-ching times infinity), tear up the front lawn, hopefully find the pipe (nine feet down? Possibly.), and replace it. We'll be responsible for the landscaping repair (ca - whatever). (So those of you coming to our September wedding will know why the grass will most likely be a different color. At best.)

I was thinking last night about how we used to say in Hawaii that Mother Maui is the type of place that will either welcome and accept you with open arms if you're supposed to be there (good job, good friends, good housing, etc.), or chew you up and spit you out if you're not (no job, wrong friends, and your house gets broken into. And your wallet is stolen). We were, obviously, in the lucky first camp. And it makes me wonder: does Idaho possess any of those same mystical qualities? Are we being told somehow that maybe this isn't a good fit? I mean, seriously? John loses his job and we're suddenly slapped in the kisser with emergency dog surgery, truck repair, and poop flooding? Did we not give enough to charity last year?

Or should we just suck it up and laugh about this 50 years from now when we're sitting on this re-cemented front porch directly over the septic tank and say, "This was all so worth it."?