Water, Water Everywhere, But Not a Drop to Drink

Last night, as I was giving Charlotte a bath, Gabe watched wistfully.  He apparently was longing for the days gone by, in which he used to splash and play in the water after bathing.  The simpler times, before he turned into a big kid who was forced into boring old showers.

I should point out here that I'm pretty sure his showers are anything but boring.  I don't know what he does in there (and I definitely don't want to know), but it involves a lot of stomping and shouting.

In any case, last night he asked if you could take a bath.  "I wish I could take a bath, Mom."  I thought about a response.  At first I was going to go with "But you're too big for baths."  But as I still love to take baths, this clearly isn't true.  His homework was completed, we'd finished dinner pretty quickly, and we had plenty of time before bedtime.  I guess I had no real reason to deny the kid a bath, so I gave in.

"Do you know how to wash your hair in the bath?" I asked.

"Yeah!"

"Ok.  Well just don't make a big mess in your bathroom," I called up the stairs after him.

"I won't!" he replied.  "And if I do, I'll clean it up."

FAMOUS.  LAST.  WORDS.

For a few minutes, everything seemed right with the world.  The girls were already bathed and dressed for bed, and were playing nicely together.  Gabe was enjoying his bath.  And I was in the kitchen, cleaning up dinner, making Gabe's school lunch for the following day, setting the coffee pot,  doing my mom thing.

All the while, I was thinking smugly to myself that I was going to have those kids in bed on time, all of my evening chores done, and I'd be relaxing by 8:01.  This was extra noteworthy, since J was out for the evening and I was flying solo.  I was feeling pretty badass about my parenting accomplishments of the evening.

And then I heard it.

Somewhere in the kitchen ceiling above me, I heard water dripping.  Actually, dripping isn't the right word.  More like pouring.

I looked up in alarm, but I didn't see anything.  Maybe it was just the pipes?  I ran up the stairs in a panic and flew into Gabe's bathroom.

And there I encountered a flood.

Gabe was completely unaware.  He was playing in the tub with the curtain closed, oblivious to the fact that his entire bathroom floor was covered in standing water.

Not for long, though, as it was apparently dripping through the floor to regions unknown.

OH MY GOD!  THE KITCHEN!  I ran back down the stairs, but before I even rounded the corner I could hear the water hitting the floor.

Where I could once only hear the dripping (no, pouring), I could now actually see it.  Water was flowing through one of the recessed kitchen lights down onto the floor, which now resembled a lake.

This is only a slightly exaggerated version of what was coming out of my ceiling.

I wasn't even sure where to start.  Water upstairs, water downstairs, not enough towels in the world to clean up all of the water, oh my God where is Jason, Gabe is crying, Charlotte is crying, why am I by myself when this shit happens, solo parenting is for the birds, I'll never relax tonight, my new house is broken, WHAT DO I DO?????

Turns out there were enough towels, the water was cleaned up, and Jason came home to deal with the light and the puddles in the ceiling (which thankfully look like it only sustained minor damage).

If there is any upside to this situation, it is this: I guarantee that my rule-following do-gooder of a son will never again ask to take a bath!