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    Saturday, October 13, 2007

    The Great Flood...And Early Bedtime

    So there are times we leave her alone in a room too long and should pay closer attention.

    Last night about 6:30, Samantha had just finished supper and as I understand it, went into the bathroom to wash her hands. At one point, she had been in there long enough and Daddy told her to shut off the water, and come out of the bathroom. I am, at that time, on the phone with my Mom, so I am kind of seeing what's going on, but not really.

    Greg remembers where he left her about five minutes later as we hear her scream that high-pitched, "non-injured but uh-oh-something's-happened scream". Greg goes into the bathroom to find her STANDING UP in the bathroom sink, eyes wide with upset, and water is POURING over the edge of the vanity like a waterfall, all three sides. Water is running out the door into the hallway. Rugs, extra rolls of toilet paper next to toilet - SOAKED. Standing water. Listening closely we hear the splattering DOWNSTAIRS. In my office. The water has run to the edge of the flooring and is now leaking down through the ceiling of my office onto the floor, computer chair, splashing on the computer, and soaking the carpet.

    Needless to say, I hung up the phone.

    She needed to wash her feet. That was her reason for this collossal aqua-mess. Had she been outside barefoot, you ask? Or stomping grapes? Or picking up hor de' voures with her toes? Painting with her cute little pigs? No. Nothing of the kind. We have no idea why she wanted to wash her feet, but she did. And that drain is a little bit slow, and if you leave it run indefinitely, it gets behind (we've been meaning to tear that wall out and fix that...), and now we know just how quickly.

    Everything seems to have dried out OK, and the floor hasn't been that clean in weeks.

    Samantha went to bed at 7:00 last night (about two hours early), after MUCH talking-to on our part (I'll spare you the details of the discipline phase of the evening), and MUCH crying and "Oh, it's all my fault"-ing on her part. She's just a little bit of a drama queen. I think she gets that from her father.

    So Daddy knows now, in hindsight, that sending her into the bathroom to wash her hands on her own is not such a great idea.

    From now on it's a washcloth at the table for washing hands.

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