As we were preparing to go, in the midst of various other crises and worries, our vintage 70s Pepto Bismol-pink bathtub --our only bathtub-- simply stopped draining. We had a tub full of standing water, fists balled in frustration, and a sea of I told you so's (because I really did tell him). It was decided...er, shouted, that there was really no point in going. But thanks to the binding nature of a bid on Priceline.com, we tabled our discussion and headed into the city. I'm glad we did, because if we hadn't I would have missed a lot:
I showered in a new white tub that drained effortlessly.
I slept in a pristinely made bed that hadn't been (to my knowledge) stomped by little feet.
I wore clothing that begged to be ruined by grubby little hands and faces.
I took a long walk through the city at night, without having to carry a tired, squirmy little body.
I ate dinner, though just burgers and beer, at the terribly urbane hour of 7:30.
I followed an early morning jog along the waterfront with a proper breakfast, rather than scarfing down a granola bar in the bathroom as I dry my hair.
It is amazing how quickly the frustration, I told you so's and shouting simply vaporized under these conditions, and just how much I missed those early family dinners, little feet, grubby hands and mouths, and squirmy bodies (but not the granola bars) after just a night away from them. So it occurred to me, somewhere between the beers and the benedict, that the tub would likely not be the last or biggest of our problems and that neither the drain nor the family would be served by the swirling sea of ire we'd unleashed onto a problem that, it turns out, required only a $2 jug of white vinegar
Yup, that's right. We returned Sunday afternoon to find that the vinegar that I'd dumped down the drain in desperation had worked overnight; the water flows down with nary a puddle. Call it a gift from the universe or call it a Thanksgiving miracle: I am very grateful.