For the meantime at least, the dilemma about WHO gets to take their morning exercise and WHO gets stuck doing breakfast and holding Dumps aloft over the toilet bowl (he still refuses to sit supported by his own chubby little hands when doing a number two - and given the state of our Indian toilet seat I don't blame him one little bit) remains a moot point. At least after last night.
Monday, 1 March 2010
Our friends who have rented the luxe villa, decided to have a party last night. There were maybe twenty people there at the height of it, and a huge chest full of ice, spirits and beer. The husband DJ'ed with his portable cd mixing desk well into the night - our evening only being cut short by an announcement from Dumps that he had made a poo poo in his pants.
I ushered him surreptiously to the toilet, thinking that a mere tossing of said turd into the toilet bowl, followed by a fistful of Wet Wipes and the putting on of a new pair of pants, might prove a band-aid solution. Not so.
Upon further inspection it was revealed that we were dealing with a mega-diahrrea situation, and immediate vacating of the premises was required given the stench and the severity of the problem (down his legs, everwhere basically).
So the husband and I quickly corralled our stinky brood into a taxi, sped home, and upon I arrival I set to making a midnight feast of pesto pasta while the husband scraped off our youngest best he could before dousing the angry little midget in water and shuffling him off to bed.
This morning, neither of us were apparently concerned about impending middle age or waistlines as any idea of exercise was abandoned as we accidentally slept in - awoken only by Egg who came to pester us about a certain 5 Rupee note he was sure one of us had stolen from him. Given he was going on a class trip today and needed to be there early - and with an extensive list of knapsack requirements - we set about, in auto pilot, our double act of pseudo-efficient parenting.
I think we succeeded. Although later, when I took a break from reading my novel outside and wandered into our bedroom where the husband lay sprawled on the bed beneath the whirring fan, tip-tap-typing away on his laptop, I did have a moment of parental guilt when glancing over at Dumps who was sat in front of the other laptop in the main room watching Star Wars (for the millionth time) on dvd.
Today are accomplishments have included: making porridge, buying bananas and water, a bike ride into town to fix a bike seat, and the putting up of a hammock.
There is something about this heat that brings out the lazy slob in a person. Sometimes it takes ages to gather the momentum to get up and brush ones teeth - let alone do anything as challenging as packing up a bag to take to the beach across the road.
Yesterday the husband rather glumly commented that he's scared he's not going to fit back into the corporate world after too many more months of this.
Well never mind him. I don't know whether I'm going to be able to dress like a normal person after being allowed to swan about in swathes of prettily patterned sarongs, heavy silver jewelry and crazy hats and headbands. Eggie might find it difficult to accept a school where lessons DON'T include games on the beach, and Dumps has already taken the idea of pulling his winks out and peeing pretty much anywhere he wants to, in stride.
I find myself wondering how that might go down outside the local Tesco back home.
Posted by "Moaning Mum" at Monday, March 01, 2010