My father is still recovering from open heart surgery...slowly but surely. The monsters are helping out by 'redecorating' his pristine, (formerly) off-white condo, into something with a more colourful (quite literally), bohemian palette.
It is quite commonplace to walk by the creme fabric sofa in the morning and do a double-take whilst clocking the childlike graffiti swirled in oranges, purples and browns on the back. It is also quite normal to be sitting and watching television, shift uncomfortably and reach down between the cushions to extract say a giant dried husk of a mango pit, or perhaps a stale and forgotten cheese twirl.
The bright red potty lugged 8 hours over the Atlantic (because it was Dumpie's 'favourite' - notice I say WAS) sits utterly abandoned in one of the toilets - as clean as the day we arrived. I have now resigned myself to the fact that there is every probability that I shall be wiping my youngest son's bottom even as he sits his A-Levels.
"Excuse me Sir may I please be excused to use the facilities?"
(A curt nod from the teacher as my large, lumbering son exits the classroom, speed dials me at home and issues his plaintive plea)
"Mum, sorry I've filled my pants again would you mind popping over for a sec and sorting me out? It kind of stinks...."
"Sure son. Do you need me to bring the wet wipes or are you cool doing that part yourself?"
"Come on Mum - I'm pretty stressed with exams - could you just do it?"
"Ok son be there in a jiffy! Just try not to sit on it ok sweetheart? See you in a minute"