Sometimes I wish I were a three-year-old boy

Or, at least, that I had one readily available.
Today would be one of those days. See, on Friday, we realized that our plumbing wasn't working quite right; whenever you did a load of laundry, the water backed up into the basement sink. It was kind of weird. So we called the plumber.
After spending ALL day at our house yesterday, the drain guy determined that we needed an excavator to dig out the sewer. Or something.
This morning I woke up to lots of "beep! beep!" sounds, of what turned out to be a backhoe backing up. Or maybe it was some other kind of truck. (By the way, I would never ever ever recommend getting the stomach flu on a day when your house happens to have no plumbing. It ain't pretty.)
But anyway, today we had all sorts of really cool construction trucks plus a REAL LIVE policeman on detail, all in front of our house, digging holes in the ground so that we could flush our toilets. This is vaguely cool if you are a twenty-two year old at home in bed with the flu. If you are a three-year-old boy, however, life just doesn't get any better than that. So I wished I knew some who lived in Cambridge. Unfortunately, my stash of three year old boys is currently in Hanover.
Oh, well.