"Despicable Me"

The monsters monopolising the slide at the playground

This afternoon as I was sifting through my online shopping cart at Sephora, busy choosing my free samples and pondering the merits of SPF vs. non-SPF Primers, if only I'd actually looked up long enough to clock that Egg was clutching a handful of loose screws, muttering to himself and dipping in and out of my father's improvised indoor 'tool shed' (which is actually a closet but surprisingly stocked and spacious) perhaps I could have stopped Dumpie's later brush with disaster.

Allow me to explain:

Following his passion for the depressing coin-operated gambling den which is 'Joyland' (which incidentally he hasn't been back to since his father left for his cycling trip nearly three weeks ago), Egg quickly became obsessed with jewels and gems of all sorts.  This involved several days of covert rifling through my jewelry bag for the shinest baubles he could procure.  In the end I fobbed him off with a fake diamante bracelet, and thankfully he's stopped the thieving and stockpiling of my precious gems underneath his pillow, so that's a result.

Anyway, ever since he clocked Grandpa doing some minor DIY in his bedroom, Egg's new passion is now carpentry.  Hence the pile of screws on his bureau top, the stealthily hidden screwdrivers and the bizarre assortment of nickel and gold plate fixtures which litter our bedroom.

Today after taking them to a matinee of 'Despicable Me' (excellent by the way - my enjoyment marred only slightly thanks to Egg's enthusiastic LOUD proclamations throughout the film, and Dumpie's noisy crunching of popcorn and periodic declarations of 'I'M HUNGRY!"), we were in the lift coming upstairs and I happened to glance down and see this shiny circular thingamabobby Egg was clutching.  It had one giant, dangerous looking screw hanging out of it, and with much cajoling Egg admitted he had taken it from the parking garage and that it was attached the the automatic exiting contraption (sigh).

Later, as I got set to hoover (a daily necessity with the monsters) and went to plug in the machine, I recall vaguely wondering why the socket looked bare and there was a hole in the wall around it.  Turns out it was one of the many fixtures Egg thought to remove, and I mentally made a note to tell Grandpa about it.

Right before bath time as I was chatting to the husband on ichat, there was suddenly a scream behind me, several giant sparks flew and a flame manifested from the wall.  As the smell of acrid smoke wafted through the socket, Dumps, in all his naked glory stood shocked and still beside us all (Grandpa being alerted by Eggie's screams), staring in horror at the screwdriver still hanging out of the (live) socket.  Oops.

I was reminded of my conversation this morning in the car with the monsters, racing to make the movie in time.  They were asking what 'despicable' meant, and I gave them a very distracted non-Webster definition of, "extremely naughty...when someone is absolutely horrible and rotten."

They paused.  Then Eggie sincerely asked, "Are WE despicable Mama?"

I paused (in all fairness a touch too long, given I'd just finished chasing Dumpie round the car park, almost tripping and spraining my ankle in the process, and probably wasn't completely 'feeling the love' as they say).

"No my darling.  You and and Dumpie are NOT despicable.  You're a bit naughty...well A LOT naughty these days...but I'm sure you'll be good boys for Mama for the rest of the day right?"

Ah, yeah, right.

Butter wouldn't melt...