The Flood (Part 2)

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.