Anyone who can recognize any one of the three possible problems in this title is in for a treat. In the words of everyones favourite Golden GIrl, “Picture This…”
It’s July in Australia and although in many parts of the world this means beaches and re-runs, here it translates to cold winds and winter skies. What’s that you say? Fine time to renovate? Indeed.
When our shower started detaching from the wall and the brown carpeted floor (hello sixties) started to rot the word “renovate” was making its debut, being tossed about with such simplicity and ease. It was a time of excitement, wonder and nerves. All the things that could be ahead of you, your first chance to ditch the original pink toilet, bath and stained wooden sink. You start looking online and in catalogs; in the back of your mind thinking it’s odd they don’t list prices but being overwhelmed by how white and clean everything looks.
Then someone drops the “P” word. No, I don’t mean price, that one is still to come. It’s the dreaded “P” word that should never be said around the innocent or fragile.
Port-a-loo.
The idea of peeing (or worse) in the same box that other people have paid to pee in (and worse) before you sends shivers up your spine and, ironically, makes you want to pee your pants. Sadly, such is the life of a one bathroom family household and what needs to be done, simply needs to be done. You recover from the anxiety attack also known as the quote and at some point you bite the bullet and kick things off. Port-A-Loo here we come.
It arrives early one morning on the back of a truck in all it’s glory, only moments before my old toilet, once hated and now for these fleeting moments treasured in it’s final hour, is removed with the use of power tools and loud banging. No turning back now. At first it’s not so bad, it all feels as though it’s going to be ok and like a child who thinks they will be a kid forever, I am convinced I might not need to use it that much at all.
In a matter of 20 minutes, the baby disgraces herself, the cat has decided now is the perfect time to get in her annual puke run on where she deposits little packages of last nights food all over the house and i drop something on the kitchen floor. Jeopardy music runs through my head and I list all the resources I do not have for these couple of hours. No Shower, no sink, no water, no electricity & no third arm. I’m now also dirty AND I need to pee. It is day 1, hour 2 of 14 days to come.
The days roll over and there is no amount of describing how revolting and off putting it is. Trekking up your backyard to the port-a-loo, torch in hand, carrying your own roll of toilet paper so as to not be sharing with the 4 workmen also using it, in the freezing cold and dark. About a week into the renovation the temperatures start to drop and news programs start getting all excited with terms like “coldest night of the year” and “record rainfall..” Awesome Port-A-Loo weather. Suddenly I find my self having to dress up in a coat and extra pants just to use a toilet. Just to reiterate, I have a Loo outfit now. I feel pretty.
The extremely high level of noise comprised of tools, working, singing and radio has seen me shuttling the baby back and forth between here and my mothers house an hour away. This is excellent drive time to reflect on all the things I should be worrying about and should have done differently. I find myself using this time to make semi abusive phone calls to suppliers who haven’t come good with deliveries or replacing faulty items all seconds before throwing a smile on my face and greeting my bouncing baby at the door. It’s 7pm and she looks at me with that look that says ‘ENERGY ENERGY ENERGY’.
Tiles, builders, babies, dogs, cats, husbands, and a full time job. What kind of moron was I signing up for this? Just now as I use the torch to navigate the backyard with the dog turds and blown over trees, giving up on not getting wet and frozen in the rain and gale force winds, it pains me to think I voluntarily signed up for this. If one more person tells me it will be worth it when it’s finished I will be featured on the news for beating someone to death with the obvious stick. Just let me complain people!
Baby seems to now be enjoying taking her nightly bath in the laundry sink, my husband and I have given this a go ourselves and can’t say we think it is quite as enjoyable. Between the hygiene in the house and emergency bucket in the laundry it’s all so blissful. The bucket is for those few middle of the night post- baby, weak bladder moments when I can’t make it from the bedroom, around the house, through the balcony, outside, down the stairs, through the backyard, up the hill to the top terrace and into the loo in time. And that’s without leaving time to take non hypothermic precautions. You don’t see any of this in the picture catalogs. It’s all bubble baths and glasses of wine. Show me the dog turns and emergency buckets of reality!
It’s funny in a way. After a certain point we spend out whole lives trying to slow time down. Turns out all you need to do to stop time is renovate your only bathroom. The end date just gets pushed back further and further and further and time seems to stand still. If only the hair on my legs and underarms would take a que from this and do the same.
Day 10, Port-A-Loo visit #27, To Be Continued.
