Mr. Fixit

After a couple of weeks of poor health, the toilet in the master bathroom finally flushed its last. It would be my job to fix it, since I do that sort of thing around our home.

And I will be training Michael up in this tradition as well. He shall be a handy husband, a man of repair abilities.

On sunday my wife and I took Michael to Home Despot to buy the repair parts. Any more, this is a very simple affair. Toilets used to be made with many individual parts that could be purchased individually: flapper valves, flush handles, water inlets, floats, etc. Nowadays it’s all one single unit.

Despite my usual leaning toward discrete components and repairing the actual problem as opposed to buying a whole new system, in the case of toilets it suits me just fine. Toilets have always been my nemesis. Every time I turn around, there’s some toilet some where in the house that’s not doing its job. Usually they develop a case of “never-shut-off-itis” or “spontaneous gurgle-osis.” I’ve had to fix toilets that leak around the wax seal in the floor flange, toilets with holes in the water line, toilets that wouldn’t stop filling up… I’ve even put in a toilet where there hadn’t been a toilet before (in a downstairs family room – saved a lot of running upstairs when staying downstairs watching a good game).

I was pleased to see that with this latest incarnation of the single unit toilet gut purchase, one didn’t need to use but a single tool: a slip wrench. The box emphatically decried the use of pliers. “Do Not Use!” it said, crossing the innocent-looking image of pliers out in red. Poor pliers. I’m sure I’ll find another job for them, so they won’t feel left out.

Monday morning, I informed Michael that it was time for us to go fix the toilet, after I do a couple of things. I hadn’t even finished my sentence and Michael was already bounding up the stairs.

I heard him prancing around in our bathroom, and then heard “Daddoo? Let’s fix toilet!” from a distance.

“Michael, let’s get tools first!”

“Okay!” thump-thump-thump-thump-thump he bounded back down the stairs.

In the garage, I perused the wall of tools I had, knowing he’d want to use some too.

“Let’s see,” I said.

“Okay. Let’s see,” he repeated, all set for fixing something with real tools.

I took down a slip wrench, an adjustable wrench, and some long-nosed pliers for him to use on something, so he’d have a chance to be involved.

I also grabbed a bucket, a towel and some teflon tape just in case.

We made our way upstairs and into the bathroom, and started in. He wanted to be the first to look into the toilet tank, to see “something cool”. He flushed it, and realized just how uncool a broken toilet was: it emptied fine, and didn’t refill.

“It’s broken!” he said, alarmed.

“Yes, that’s why we’re fixing it.”

“How its broken?”

“I don’t know, Michael. But we can fix it anyway.” I opened the box of the new parts and pulled everything out, including the instructions.

I shut off the water supply and removed the line from the inlet connection, making sure the bucket was in place. Michael of course had to be right there too. I informed him that I needed the bucket there where he was so he’d have to move.

I handed him the needle nose pliers and some of the extra parts they included in the kit, ones I knew I wouldn’t need.

“Here, fix these. I need you to squeeze this washer,” I instructed him. He got right to work on it, looking very industrious.

After removing the old valve assembly and installing the new one, I read the line in the instructions pertaining to flushing rust and sediment from the line before running the valve. Good idea, I thought.

“Turn the water supply back on briefly,” the instructions said.

I did so, following what I believed to be the proper procedure.

I was rewarded with a gout of water jetting directly upwards from the top of the valve, soaking not only the ceiling and wall but the curtains, the knick-knacks my wife keeps nearby as decoration, my entire face, and the floor behind me.

Just as quickly, I shut it off. Obviously, I misread something.

Yes, here it is: hold the valve assembly over the top of the water inlet tube to keep the water jet from soaking your bathroom. Silly me. How incredibly cliche of me to drench myself doing some plumbing project.

I looked over to see Michael, some distance away, wide-eyed and covering his ears. My little accident must have scared him.

“It’s okay, buddy. Daddy just did something dumb,” I reassured him.

He came back to sitting behind me, presumably going about his work, as I finished up.

Satisfied with how well things were going, I was about to turn the water supply back on. Then I heard Michael ask:

“How do you cut these?”

I turned just in time to see Michael squeezing the long-nosed pliers, which had cutters built in, over an electric toothbrush charger power cord that was plugged into the wall.

“NOOOOOO!” I screamed.

Immediately he dropped the pliers and covered his ears.

“Never, ever ever do that! You don’t EVER CUT WIRES!” I bellowed. Poor little guy. He looked at the wire, stricken, and then looked at me as tears welled in his eyes.

“Michael, that is a HUGE owie! You can’t ever touch these things. I think we’re done here.” I took the pliers and put them in my pocket. Michael pouted a bit and then left.

I did get the toilet fixed and without making any leaks, I might add.

Once again I am shown just how very much like his Daddy Michael really is. I just hope he survives. I must hide the wire cutters.