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I glance over at my nephew as I’m hanging laundry from the makeshift clothesline I made by running a thin rope across the kitchen. There are a total of five ropes between the kitchen and living room, so when we do laundry, it’s impossible to see anyone or anything, but until we can afford to get the dryer fixed, this is how we dry our clothes.
“I’ll be there in just a sec,” I tell Tate. “Hey, tell your brother he needs to eat his grilled cheese; it’s getting cold.”
“Mom! Look, it’s so cute!” Hannah says from somewhere.
I have no idea where. I can’t see anything but Zee’s flannel shirts, which are hanging in front of me and behind me.
“Where are you?”
“In the living room. By the comfy chair.”
I make my way through the laundry jungle and find my daughter smiling brightly as she twirls in her new dance costume. Though I want to be supportive, it’s hard when my twelve-year-old is wearing what looks like boy short briefs and a sports bra.
“Cute, but...is there more?”
“We’re putting red sequined things in our hair when we perform.”
I furrow my brow. “Do you feel comfortable in this?”
“Yeah, I love it.”
“I guess...at least it’s black. Aunt Cam can sew pads into the bra.”
“Mom! I don’t want a padded bra.”
I sigh softly, having had this conversation with her many times. “It won’t be a padded bra. But you have to have a little something in the nipple area for coverage.”
“But nothing anyone can see.”
“Right.” I try to think of something nice I can say about this outfit, but I’ve got nothing. It’s too revealing for twelve-year-olds. “So your coach approved this costume choice?”
“Aunt Tess! You better come quick!” Tate calls from upstairs.
Who said weekends were relaxing? In our house, I spend Saturdays working every bit as hard as I do at the diner, just at home. I go upstairs, almost to the top stair, when I hear the sound of running water.
I reach the bathroom door, where I spend half a second taking in the scene before responding.
Tate is standing on the side of the bathtub, looking down as Sam tries to mop up water on the floor from the overflowing toilet with one soaking wet towel.
“What happened?” I lunge toward the plunger behind the toilet. “Both of you get in the bathtub.”
“Tate tried to flush a teddy bear down the toilet ’cause he didn’t want it anymore,” Sam explains.
“A teddy bear?” I put the plunger in the toilet and plunge with everything I’ve got.
If our floors get ruined, we’re sunk. We’ll never be able to afford to fix them.
“It’s a dog, not a teddy bear,” Tate says.
“Hannah, bring towels!” I yell. “Every towel you can find!”
The plunger’s not working. I toss it aside and get down on my knees, reaching into the toilet to find the stuffed dog.
“Eww! There’s poop in there, Aunt Tess!” Tate says, laughing.
The ends of my hair are in the toilet and my jeans are soaked. But I have to get this toilet unclogged. I can feel something, but it’s jammed in too hard for me to pull out.
“What’s going on?” Hannah asks, appearing in the doorway with two towels in hand.
