The husband spent last weekend with the boys camping.
Whilst it did mean certain credit in the ‘Anna Bank’, it also meant three nights (and long days) kid wrangling solo.
Truthfully, I was actually looking forward to that big bed all to myself. I planned ahead and sorted a couple of play dates, long walks, easy dinners (read takeaway) and anything and everything to tire the kids out. It was all going splendidly. My ship was running smoothly. The house was tidy(ish). The kids were happy. I managed a walk on my treadmill. I bloody baked banana bread. I even made a start on sorting photos out from those overseas trips we once took before the kids came along.
Easy.
Or so I thought.
Then it all went downhill; or actually straight up, beside the back door.
After baths on Friday night, I pulled the plug and was greeted by the peculiar sounds of gurgling, from all the pipes in the kitchen, laundry and bathroom. Mmmmm. Unusual.
No time to investigate. I was fast sucked into the kid bedtime vortex, chewed up and spat out an hour later, only to be greeted by a pretty vile stink. I followed my nose, threw open the back door and was met by a sight that I just cannot un-see. As my daughter proudly announced to her Kinder class on Monday, there was poos and wees everywhere! You think you feel sick reading this? Try living it. I have cleaned nappies and kids sick and all sorts of bodily fluids, but this completely killed me. Nu-uh. Not my department. I slammed the door, and pretended like it wasn’t happening.
He wasn’t home for another 40 odd hours.
I cooked a nice welcome home dinner and prepared all the poo puns I had, ready to make light of a really shit*y situation.
He arrived home and I quickly caught him at the pass, BEFORE he made it to the shower. But what was this? Limping? It appears the poor ol’ fella was kicking the footy with the lads, attempting speckies like a 21 year old. Apparently the hammy went one way, he went the other! Good-bye professional cycling career (his thoughts/dreams, not mine). Just another doozy to add to our woes.
He was kind enough, however, to announce to the kids that he had a present for them. Their adoring little eyes followed a giant box he presented FULL OF CHOCOLATE. Just laid out on the table. Hands went flying as kids grabbed and he chuckled! Whoa whoa whoa whoa. I like chocolate as much as the next person, but I also like to have some semblance of ration control. PLUS, possibly worse, now they know it is there in the cupboard and the whining is breaking me. And um…well…chocolate, blocked toilet?
But wait.
There’s more…
Monday night I whacked the veges on that I had (impressively I must say) prepared earlier. After a while another vile smell swirled about the kitchen. Something was clearly burning. Was the oil burning on the pan? Was it something stuck on the bottom of the saucepan. Nope. It was the broccoli, which I had cleverly decided to boil, minus the water. Laters, brocs. You had a good innings saucepan.
On the up side, after the plumber visited yesterday, it seems that wet wipes, though my hero in every other circumstance, cannot be flushed down the toilet. Oh yes…I know that. The small person was ‘cleaning’ it seems. Hell…who am I to dampen the spirits of a child who is voluntarily cleaning the toilet!?
And just as I was rejoicing that the plumbers bill was not going to resemble a small mortgage, my husband caught me in a good mood.
I only went and agreed to a camping trip. Outside. In a tent. Possible rain forecast. Unpowered site.
At least there will be flushing toilets.
I hope!
For my of my camping ‘joy’, check out Camping, Shmamping.
