JACK NOTHING: our strategy in the face of imminent doom and grossness

Last night, I informed my husband that if *I* had to reach my hand into the toilet, I was going to be VERY upset:

And of course he handled it right away by doing JACK NOTHING.

So tonight after a very long Sunday afternoon that involved attending a celebration for a grant some of my students received (yay!!), driving all over the county arranging child care, and finding out that my mom’s abdominal discomfort was really appendicitis and HEY today looks like a great day for surgery, I came home and herded my kid to bed.

Approximately a single nanosecond later he is in the hall way.  Then I hear him in the bathroom.

What are you doing??

I going potty.

FABULOUS. Because surely I deserve a reward for all this potty training and toddler nudist colony activity going on over here.  I finally haul my tired ass to the bathroom and find him naked on his froggie potty, pulled right up to the toilet with his hands in the water.  *GAG*

Before I can stop him, he flushes it and water goes EVERYWHERE.  Twice.

After using every towel and rug available in this house, screeching at my son who wonders why I am mad at him, and shoving my hand down deep in the toilet, I find not only  our missing nail clippers, but this as well:

As I told Lorie, THIS?  THIS IS WHY WOMEN UNCORK A BOTTLE OF RED WINE AND DRINK TIL THEY CAN SEE DAY LIGHT THROUGH THE BOTTOM.

And to Ismael:  I am mad at you, just like I promised.