Commode Commodity

This morning, when I had to walk all the way back up the stairs to go to the bathroom, I started thinking of all the stories I've heard about people growing up with a family of six or eight or whatever and one bathroom.

Of course, if you go one generation back further than that, you get the old outhouse/slop jar stories.

I was raised in town, in a very old house. In fact, the two original front rooms of the house were rented by my great-grandparents before my grandmother was born. And she was born in 1900.

As old houses often are, this one was randomly added on to over the years.

What I suppose was a side porch got closed in, and part of that was partitioned off to make a utility room. My wise grandfather put an old, single bowl kitchen sink (the kind with a built in drainboard) and a commode in there. One wall was solid shelves and the washing machine sat in the corner.

Now this was a wringer washer. One that I was told horror stories over as they let me slide wash clothes and towels through the wringer. Like how my aunt got her long hair caught in the wringer and it pulled part of her scalp off along with her hair. Or how so and so got her fingers hung and it mashed 'em flat, not to mention pulling everything to the bone off where her ring was.

Doesn't this beg the question: why were they letting me, an eight or nine year old, use this demon possessed type of machinery?

Anyway, there were three of us and two commodes, so I never had a 'moment' where my life passed in front of me while waiting on my daddy to get out of the  bathroom.

He stayed in there close to forever, always taking a book or 'The Atlanta Journal' newspaper with him. Good thing we had two commodes, huh.

In my present home, we have a half bath downstairs and a full bath upstairs, so we  never suffer for more than the thirty seconds it takes to fly up the stairs, being as it is the rare moment three people have to go potty at the same time. (Now that I've said that, of course...)

Husband was raised in a house with several siblings and two parents and they shared one bathroom, and as far as I know, no one was hurt seriously over it. But man, I've heard some stories! Especially when the siblings hit the teen years and they are suddenly fascinated with the bathroom.

I remember when my great-grandparents (another set) got their indoor toilet. They closed off the end of the hall and put in a stall shower, a sink and a commode. We were all crowding in there to ooh and aah over it (I must have been four or so). All the appliances were a strange green color, and I thought that was what everyone was so excited about. The funny thing is, I don't remember an outhouse but obviously there was one  prior to that day.

I guess commodes aren't all that important until you need one.

I remember riding the bus to Atlanta when I was a little girl to meet my grandparents who were living there temporarily. Of course the bathroom didn't work on the bus, and by the time I got to the bus station, I was about to bust. My grandmother hurried me into the terminal to the restroom, but unfortunately there was a long line. I was in tears, and knew I was about to wet my Sunday dress. I suddenly saw another lady take her little girl into another bathroom, and with relief, sprinted toward them. My grandmother caught be by the dress tail and said I couldn't use that bathroom, it was for 'coloreds' only.

I remember being furious that they could have their own bathroom to themselves while I had to stand in line.

By then I was crying with confusion and pain, so the ladies in  line let me in front so I could go before I went in my clothes.

And remember the funny about the toddler who used the display commode in a store when mama had her back turned?

Glad that mama wasn't me. But it could have been...

We've had stuff flushed down the commode by our then-toddler, and our cat has dropped his stuffed frog in there.

When Daughter was two and it was time (or past time, depending on your opinion) to potty train, Husband's sister loaned us a little plastic potty that was shaped exactly like a minature commode. Daughter never used it herself, but stayed busy putting all her stuffed animals on it. I guess she was so busy training them, she didn't have time for herself.

Not long after we had this new toy, she came to me and tugged me into the bathroom. Bear was perched on the throne. Daughter said, "It tore up, Mama. It ain't got no zipper to fwush wif." She was pointing to where the flush lever was supposed to be.

One night when Daughter was saying her prayers and thanking God for everything, she remembered to thank Him for the commode.

And you know what? She was right.