So the Easter holidays have got off to a flying start. Half an hour after getting up, Josh and Max came to blows over a small stretchy man that Max got in a party bag yesterday. Obviously the hundreds, nay, thousands of pounds’ worth of toys in their playroom couldn’t hold a torch to this little piece of yellow rubber…that is now stuck forlornly to the living room ceiling with no one showing one iota of interest in him now that the element of competition has been removed.
I had a tepid shower with Zach who weed and then paddled in the yellow puddle he’d just created. Then he insisted I take the shower off the wall so he could wash himself and proceeded to spray it out of the bath, completely soaking the floor and bath mat. As I wrestled it off him he dropped it facing upwards and I groped for it blindly through the water that was gushing like a fire hose directly into my face, soaking my hair (that didn’t need washing) in the process.
As I stood with water dripping into my eyes, I shouted for Josh to bring me a towel from the tumble dryer as I’d used the one in the bathroom to mop up the flood on the floor. After a very long pause Josh shouted back that he couldn’t find any…as he stood on the stairs watching television (I could hear him not looking, I didn’t need to be able to see him).
Still buff naked and shivering after five long minutes, I eventually screeched at Josh to just bring everything from the tumble dryer upstairs. Then I got an insight into what my life will be like when puberty arrives as Josh burst into the bathroom in tears (still without a towel). Apparently my shouts of desperation had upset him. Despite being still naked and towel-less, I found myself apologising for having the audacity to expect one of the males in the house to look for something. I should have realised what a big ask that was, in hindsight.
As a result I was forced to pad wetly into the bedroom to retrieve a damp towel from the pile of eighteen or so that had been left on the floor at my husband’s side of the bed, my husband being the only person in our house with the perk of using not one but two clean towels each time he has a bath or a shower. I think he believes thinks that the cupboard where the towels are kept is a form of Petri dish where towels rather than bacteria breed of their own accord.
The irony is that if anything is breeding anywhere it will in fact be somewhere in the mess on his side of the bed where damp towels, dirty (and probably clean) clothes, empty cans of deodorant, phone chargers, paper, pens, loose change and the odd poo bag have been there for so long that they will no doubt soon combine to form a new strain of penicillin.
So I sit typing this in lieu of going to the park because it is once again pissing down, having just placated my children with nutrition-less fast food, mainly because I felt like stuffing my face whilst I’m not wearing my new jeans and can therefore breathe without assistance. That was after I finally managed to get the kids in the car; Max decided that rather than clean his teeth, he was going to give his stretchy man a bath. And before you ask, no, that’s not a euphemism. Josh got so distracted by telling tales on Max that it took several attempts to get his shoes on and Zach, of course, wanted to dress up as Buzz Lightyear.
He’s also of an age where he must carry seemingly random items with him wherever he goes and God help anyone who tries to stop him. Today’s selection for the ten minute round trip was a toy truck, a small plastic dinosaur, some novelty ‘scissors’ that have a spring and a boxing glove on the end (another party bag item), a Zhu Zhu pet with no batteries and a drumstick that he uses as a wand to turn people into frogs.
How much longer? Two weeks? Two f***ing weeks? Give me strength. And lots and lots of wine 😉