Two days ago Egg flooded yet another room in our new home. Once more it was a bathroom, but this time the master bedroom one. I am pleased to report that the bidet did not play a part in the deluge like last time, however the bloody toilet brush and a whole roll of toilet paper were sufficient enough to clog the toilet, cause a serious overflow, and direct streams of water into our actual bedroom.
I wanted to murder him. Again. Instead I put him on the stairs, got all the towels in the house in an attempt to stem the flow of water, and had to spend 20 minutes elbow deep in the toilet, up the U-bend - in an attempt to fix the blockage. I have to hand it to the little guy - he did a most thorough job in F__ing it i up.
I have to say that Egg showed very little remorse this time around, and instead queried whether I still loved him. Of course I gave the correct answer, though fuming, and explained that I loved him but that i was VERY ANGRY with him. Later when Jay came home and asked him about the flooding, Egg very solemnly declared, "Let’s not talk about that Dada. Let’s talk about nice things." So that was that.
Alarmingly, Dumpie just yesterday learned how easy it is to slide a kitchen chair across the linoleum, bang it right up to the cupboard and clamber onto it like a circus monkey. Once up, he has complete and direct access to ... well, to everything. Initially favouring the big sweep - literally sending everything crashing down onto the floor for his own personal amusement - today he seems rather fond of exploratory taste testing. An hour ago I walked into the kitchen to find both boys side by side on a chair, on tiptoe, knuckle deep in peanut butter. Oh joy.
Now as I type Dumpie is systematically relieving the utility cupboard of every toxic and non-toxic substance used (pointlessly I must add) to clean this house. He has a constant runny nose, an impish grin and a smile which would melt anyone and anything. He’s going to be alright. I am not.
When I complain to Jay, his response is, "Well go find yourself a cleaning lady. It’s your own fault." Although it would certainly help the situation, let’s face it, with this crew it’s akin to putting up ’Healthy Eating’ posters depicting fruit and seeds next to a ’Cadbury’s’ vending machine... well intentioned yet utterly useless.
Thursday, 27 March 2008
Thursday, 13 March 2008
"Rain Rain Go Away"
It’s 6:40pm on a rainy, cold March evening here in London, and I’m listening to Annie Lennox ’Why’, allowing it to drown out the screams behind me. Egg is trying to play with his play-doh and keep Dumpie from eating it (something he’s not too successful at given that I spot a large dayglo chunk of green in his mouth right now). I’ve just fished out Dumpie’s sippy cup and various baking implements from our large dirty bin for the fifteenth time....this hour...and I’m so exhausted that I’m contemplating a quick nap on the floor by the oven.
Now lest you think i embellish these little anecdotes, let me just say that as we speak Dumpie is dragging the toilet brush all around my kitchen and has just deposited ANOTHER new roll of toilet paper in the toilet bowl...the whole thing (sigh). So much for having a bathroom on every level - i thought it was supposed to be a good thing, not a curse. How was I supposed to know how enticing a toilet brush is to a 16 month old??
Today I picked up Egg from nursery at 3:30 pm as usual - only it was raining and I was early (for once)...in fact I was the first one there. Shortly after I arrived, my favourite fellow ’mom’ arrived to cart home her FOUR toddler boys. I refer to her as ’Nice Mom’. How does she do it? I’m sure she’s blissed out on happy pills because everytime I see her she has a perpetual grin lighting up her face and looks utterly chilled. We haven’t yet broken the ice and spoken to each other, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. We do the smile, nod and ’hi’ though, so that’s something. Mom politics...wonder if i’ll ever get the hang of it - or the inclination to get the hang of it.
Shortly after ’nice mom’ my nemesis arrived "short, fat, mean French mom’. She is a nasty piece of work. For the past two months she’s looked as though she should be in hospital stirrups not on the school run, as she is a short, toady looking thing who is just as wide around as she is tall. Sporting rimless frames and always with a severe look on her face, she has taken a great dislike to Egg and I. You could blame this on the hormones or the fact that one day, many weeks ago, Egg accidentally took her daughters spot at the ’painting’ table - illiciting a tantrum of which I haven’t seen the like before, from her very spoiled, very annoying blond little girl. Of course with my luck, she and Egg will grow to become best friends and ’Mean French Mom’ and I will have to glare our way through birthday parties and school functions....urghhhh
Anyway, Dumpie is yanking on my jeans demanding another cup of juice and Egg is insisting I try his play-doh pie. I wish I drank scotch or had a valium prescription. Or both.
Now lest you think i embellish these little anecdotes, let me just say that as we speak Dumpie is dragging the toilet brush all around my kitchen and has just deposited ANOTHER new roll of toilet paper in the toilet bowl...the whole thing (sigh). So much for having a bathroom on every level - i thought it was supposed to be a good thing, not a curse. How was I supposed to know how enticing a toilet brush is to a 16 month old??
Today I picked up Egg from nursery at 3:30 pm as usual - only it was raining and I was early (for once)...in fact I was the first one there. Shortly after I arrived, my favourite fellow ’mom’ arrived to cart home her FOUR toddler boys. I refer to her as ’Nice Mom’. How does she do it? I’m sure she’s blissed out on happy pills because everytime I see her she has a perpetual grin lighting up her face and looks utterly chilled. We haven’t yet broken the ice and spoken to each other, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. We do the smile, nod and ’hi’ though, so that’s something. Mom politics...wonder if i’ll ever get the hang of it - or the inclination to get the hang of it.
Shortly after ’nice mom’ my nemesis arrived "short, fat, mean French mom’. She is a nasty piece of work. For the past two months she’s looked as though she should be in hospital stirrups not on the school run, as she is a short, toady looking thing who is just as wide around as she is tall. Sporting rimless frames and always with a severe look on her face, she has taken a great dislike to Egg and I. You could blame this on the hormones or the fact that one day, many weeks ago, Egg accidentally took her daughters spot at the ’painting’ table - illiciting a tantrum of which I haven’t seen the like before, from her very spoiled, very annoying blond little girl. Of course with my luck, she and Egg will grow to become best friends and ’Mean French Mom’ and I will have to glare our way through birthday parties and school functions....urghhhh
Anyway, Dumpie is yanking on my jeans demanding another cup of juice and Egg is insisting I try his play-doh pie. I wish I drank scotch or had a valium prescription. Or both.
Monday, 3 March 2008
'Jetlaggia'
Arrived home this morning from ten days in St. Lucia avec Jay's famille. We had the good luck to be jammed in a train carriage from Gatwick full of grumpy monday morning commuters, and Dumpie's loud shrieks and Egg's constant jabbering likely did much in the way of making our fellow passengers wish they were dead (or we were).
Yesterday at the airport I sufferred the embarrassment of Egg staring doggedly at an overweight lady opposite him, cramming her mouth full of crisps whilst devouring a romantic novel. Soon he started whining for crisps too and moments later the lady beside him got up and returned with a can of sour cream and onion Pringles - a large handful of which she felt obliged to hand over immediately to the salivating Dumpie (who was gesturing at them with his arm and making grunting noises) and Egg (who was plaintively staring the can down). Humiliating....especially when Egg continued to loudly request more.
I'm simply too shattered to go into detail about our week away in the Caribbean, but suffice it to say that we've all returned a) browner (we were pretty much the only 'Johnston' contingent to not suffer sunburn at some point b) fatter (thanks to the 24 hour all-inclusive buffet and open bar - hiccup burp hiccup) and c) disgruntled (when you've spent your days stuffing your face, lying prone in the hot sun and moving only to shunt yourself around the 'lazy river' - a manmade inner tube ride which slowly lulls you around the grounds much reminiscent of a hippo - it's a wee bit tricky to adjust to real life again and a faster pace of life.
At any rate, the boys upstairs have finally stopped screaming themselves to sleep (they are jetlagged within an inch of their lives and are likely going to wake bolt upright sometime around 3 am) and Jay has just finished drying out the flood which happened in our kitchen while we were away. I would be a fool not to roll myself into bed now and try to get some rest before the screeching chicken rears its ugly/cute head and tomorrow is upon us.
I have an early morning visit from a spun out cable guy to look forward to. If his visit is anything like his last he shall be climbing out our various windows like a monkey, spilling cups of tea and dirtying up the house with muddy trainers. And for this I'll get the pleasure of handing him a load of cash and running around keeping two boys from leaping out the open windows. Fun fun fun.
Yesterday at the airport I sufferred the embarrassment of Egg staring doggedly at an overweight lady opposite him, cramming her mouth full of crisps whilst devouring a romantic novel. Soon he started whining for crisps too and moments later the lady beside him got up and returned with a can of sour cream and onion Pringles - a large handful of which she felt obliged to hand over immediately to the salivating Dumpie (who was gesturing at them with his arm and making grunting noises) and Egg (who was plaintively staring the can down). Humiliating....especially when Egg continued to loudly request more.
I'm simply too shattered to go into detail about our week away in the Caribbean, but suffice it to say that we've all returned a) browner (we were pretty much the only 'Johnston' contingent to not suffer sunburn at some point b) fatter (thanks to the 24 hour all-inclusive buffet and open bar - hiccup burp hiccup) and c) disgruntled (when you've spent your days stuffing your face, lying prone in the hot sun and moving only to shunt yourself around the 'lazy river' - a manmade inner tube ride which slowly lulls you around the grounds much reminiscent of a hippo - it's a wee bit tricky to adjust to real life again and a faster pace of life.
At any rate, the boys upstairs have finally stopped screaming themselves to sleep (they are jetlagged within an inch of their lives and are likely going to wake bolt upright sometime around 3 am) and Jay has just finished drying out the flood which happened in our kitchen while we were away. I would be a fool not to roll myself into bed now and try to get some rest before the screeching chicken rears its ugly/cute head and tomorrow is upon us.
I have an early morning visit from a spun out cable guy to look forward to. If his visit is anything like his last he shall be climbing out our various windows like a monkey, spilling cups of tea and dirtying up the house with muddy trainers. And for this I'll get the pleasure of handing him a load of cash and running around keeping two boys from leaping out the open windows. Fun fun fun.
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