Toilets, 2. Hubby, 0.

We hadn't been in the house a month before Hubby had his first home plumbing repair to make.  Noooo problemo, he saith.  He is, after all, the son (and nephew) of a plumber.

It happened after he tried to install the Kaboom flush-to-clean bowl cleaning systems in all three toilets.

The two upstairs?  Just fine.  The Kaboom inserts installed flawlessly.

The one in the half bath downstairs?  Not so much.

 

A part in the toilet tank there broke when he tried to install the Kaboom thing.

I was quite ecstatic when it was finally fixed and we had three potties again.  (My ankle was starting to gripe about having to go up two sets of stairs to get to the nearest toilet, especially since most of our time is spent on the kitchen/den level.)

On Thursday night, I mentioned that the master bath toilet was, well, burbling, for lack of a better word.  I didn't think it was running.  It was just making noise, and jiggling the handle (the extent of my plumbing skills) didn't stop it.  Hubby checked, and it was indeed running, and he picked up the parts to fix it before I left Friday afternoon to bring the girls to Mom & Dad's.

Hubby had SPAM night with the middle-school kids in the youth group (that's Soda, Pizza and A Movie), so he stayed behind.  After his relaxing Saturday, he finally got around to replacing the faulty parts after bath time tonight.

I was half-watching Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, the Fries tucked in bed for the night, when Hubby hollered from upstairs.  "Can you go take care of Medium's bug?"

I dutifully trooped upstairs, located the nearly-invisible spider, and effectively dispatched the thing.  After a prompt burial at sea in the kids' bathroom, I headed back downstairs.

As I approached the stairs, Hubby sighed. "I am not getting along well with the toilets in this house."

"Oh?"

"I was able to get this out easily, without any tools."  He glanced over at me.  "Which means...I broke something else when I took it out, and that means lots of tools."

Yikes.

I continued back downstairs, and was just beginning to get engrossed in Indy's third tale when I heard Hubby's heavy footsteps move down the hall to the twins' room, which is directly above the den.  Terse words followed, and then Hubby stalked into the den a few minutes later, now wearing jeans (he'd put on shorts for supervising bath time) and carrying a pair of socks.  "Next time we have a broken toilet, we're hiring a plumber!"  He strode to the couch and sat down.

"Going to Lowe's?"

He nodded.  "I broke the dang overflow tube."

I knew better than to say anything about that one.  So I just asked what the problem was with the Fries.

He then explained, as he tugged on his socks, "Medium saw (gasp) a dot on the wall.  And she wanted you.  And she wouldn't settle down because she thought she saw a dot!"

I decided it would not be a good idea to ask him if he could measure the glass panels to get the replacement shelves for my dining room china cabinet while he was out.