So we've been scouring Craig's List, and we've been intermittently looking at rental houses for a couple of months. To put it mildly, none of these places have spoken to us. I love our neighborhood now. We can walk to the library, to the organic grocery, to two different parks, the Bubba bikes to work, we're a block away from throwing rocks into the ship canal. Really, it's ideal SAHM territory.
I almost had to resign myself to living in a far north Seattle suburb where we'd have to drive Ev.er.y.where. because the places in our (modest, one income!) price range. It turned out that we were looking either at real rat-holes or at far away.
But this is all a different post entirely. Let's get to the poop, shall we?
Last Sunday we went to see a house that was old, old, old. The owner was asking $1300/mo. I'll add that the house is smallish (less than 1000 sq.ft?), is on a busy street, with single-paned painted-shut windows, is one house away from a Plaid Pantry stop-n-shop type convenience store and is just around the corner from a huge Goodwill store. Not really cute neighborhood realty here.
After looking in the first couple of rooms, we ended up just sticking around and asking questions to be polite to the owner who was very nice, but kept saying stuff like "I know the carpet is totally gross, but I don't have plans to replace it right now." I mean, really awesome.
Lucy, of course, chooses this particular moment to stop in her running-around tracks and shout "GOTTA GO POTTY!" I turned to the owner, asked if he'd mind if she used the bathroom and scurried off down the hall.
The bathroom was a veritable pit. I'm pretty sure I've used porta-potties in which I've been more confident touching things. I'm not sure when the last time it was cleaned. The bathtub and toilet had grime up and down the sides of them, and honestly, I just stopped looking around.
I plopped Lucy down on the toilet and she went about her grunting and red-facing until she exclaimed "Yay! Poopoos in the potty!" and hopped down from the toilet seat expecting exuberant laud and applause. Except! She jumped off the pot before, um, the ship actually left the port, shall we say? And all of a sudden there was turd smeared all over the seat and the front of the toilet.
I wanted so, so badly to just leave it. We could just run out! We'd never see this guy again! And really, I almost did, but I thought that might be a tad obvious. Well, obvious - slash - MEAN.
You will be happy to know I swallowed down my barf and reached for the wipes I still keep in my purse. I was chanting the whole time "Please, God, let this flush. Please, please, God," since I was depositing wad after wad of toilet paper and un-flushable wipes. I got Lucy's butt clean (with her joyfully oblivious to all of this, bending with her hands on the FLOOR for a butt-wipe. Really I don't know what was worse, the toilet or the floor. Oh gag. Both.), I got the front of the toilet wiped off, the toilet flushed, and I didn't puke! WIN! I turned to the sink and there was no soap. No towel. No nothing. Thank God for purse-sized hand sanitizer is all I have to say. I bathed us both in sanitizer and we left that house post-haste.
(Side note: I am so not looking forward to road trips with 7-11 toilet trips with kids. SO GROSS. How did you deal, Mom?)
Oh, but isn't Karma a funny thing?! I cleaned that guy's toilet, and then directly after, I'm pretty sure we found our perfect house! So maybe I should thank Lucy?