About the same time Rachel left, Tyce also left for some library time. I put Lincoln down for a nap and got excited to have a little alone time. I walked into our bedroom to kick off my shoes and relax, just in time to see water pouring from the bathroom toilet, located at the end of our walk-in closet. I ripped off the top of the tank and plunged my hands into the water (bracelets and all) to try and make it stop, totally frantic since the bathroom floor was already submerged.
I know the basics about stopping toilet overflows, but nothing was working. Still, water pouring out of the bowl, now so deep it was almost to my ankles and running into our attached closet. By this time I'm hysterical: I call Tyce, he doesn't answer; I try a few other tricks, even attempting to force the rubber stopper where (I think) it should go; I use a few choice four letter words...and then I start praying.
Typically, when I picture a fervent prayer, I imagine someone getting down on their knees and passionately asking for a solution, tenderly asking Heavenly Father for their help. My prayer did not go this way. I was ankle-deep in toilet water, watching as my shoes and clothes began to soak, water creeping closer and closer to my bedroom carpet, and still - water pouring from the toilet bowl. Instead, (while still maniacally looking for some magic solution) I hysterically started yelling "HEAVENLY FATHER! HELP! OH MY GOSH, PLEASE! NO, NO, OH MY GOSH, OH MY GOSH, HEAVENLY FATHER, PLEEEASE!"
and then I saw it.
Right next to the toilet on the tile, a little silver knob attached to a water line going into the wall. I'd seen it so many times I'd stopped noticing it was there! With one quick turn to the right, the water turned off, the toilet water stopped pouring, and I was left standing in a pond that was once my closet.