Just found this one (I had been thinking about this particular thing lately and thought I would just post it again):
Thoughts Float Up From the Steam
I am in the mood to write just now because I just finished a set of deep contemplation while ironing Dear Sir's few pieces of spring/summer attire. Maybe there is a good thing about ironing that I never realized.
I was thinking about my father in law. He has to be the coolest father in law alive. I thought about the times when I had house-breaking-down issues and I called him. He is retired so he was always available for me. I think he made himself available for me as well because he took a great liking to me. He still does. I have mentioned before that my daughter has poop problems. Her brother, Eraser Eater, had them too in his time. It was really awful. He would literally sit on the pot and scream at his poop, telling it that he hates it, wants it to die, etc. etc. It gets embarrassing, sad, and hilarious. He would retain, retain, retain until he had to deliver a big healthy baseball and then do it all over again. This took a toll on our toilet. Let's not forget to remember that I had an inferior plunger then too. I was not well-versed with plungers back then. I just remember those days as being full of fecal matter up to my---well, just all over my body. Whenever the kids are sick or some accident happens, I am the one that cleans that madness up because Dear Sir would just add to it. You know?
So, one day the toilet was so bad I just didn't think it was going to work anymore. I called Dear Sir's father and he came over in a jiffy. My own younger brother was around the house then with me and so they were both laboring over my toilet. Apparently the damage was so bad that my father in law had to remove the toilet from the floor. I immediately felt a rush of gratitude and obligation (perhaps that is why I am writing this now). He and my brother carted that crap-infested porcelain thing to the grass outside and my father in law proceeded to take a stick and work unclogging it.
Usually what happens with my father in law and me is a little "lesson". He would take me along like we were on a home improvement show and show me "how it is done". He said I had a knack for mechanical things and he liked my being his "assistant." So when he got that toilet down on the grass, he had me kneel down there beside him and watch.
He said (and excuse my French), "You see, there, Rachel, it is a matter of scooping out the shit." I didn't think I had ever heard him cuss before. I imagined myself taking a stick and using it to gingerly scoop out human feces and I thought, yeah, I might say that too. It really stunk. It was bad. I mean, this was weeks of poop just clogging up the pipes. Maybe I won't get into it anymore. Let's just say that that patch of grass he left the poop on got really green.
So I come back from my reverie while ironing and think, "Man, my father in law must really think I'm something."