Mr Oub arrives home tomorrow morning. Plane lands at 8am. While he has only actually been away for 8 days - somehow it feels like an eternity. It's sorta like that Star Trek episode where Captain Picard was rendered unconscious by some odd space probe. After which we see him live a whole lifetime on a distant planet - and then he wakes up just 25 minutes later back on the bridge of the Starship Enterprise. I feel like that. I'm just hoping I can wake up any minute now. And if Patrick Stewart happens to be there when I do, all the better.
It's been a tough week.
The kids went mental.
Toddler Oub was especially creative. In fact she really pulled out all the stops last night.
I heard a little voice calling me at around 9.30 last night. I went up to investigate.
Hands up who remembers the dirty protests in the Maze prison during the 1970's? Well, obviously Cbeebees has been putting on some gritty documentaries between Peppa Pig and Dora the Explorer as toddler Oub seemed shockingly well versed on the poo smeared across walls, floors and doors concept (as originated by those smelly IRA inmates...)
Sweet Baby Jesus in his heaven above, how can one child, so small, produce so much poo?? It was EVERYWHERE! If there ever was a time I wanted a space probe to descend and render me unconscious, last night was it.
I grabbed the boys, hot water, anti-bac spray, clothes pegs. We scrubbed poo off the walls. Off the carpet. Off the baby gate. And 45 minutes, and I am not kidding, 45 long, smelly, stinking, germ infested minutes later we finished. Well - we thought we'd finished decontaminating the area when, like Glenn Close leping from the bath, knife in hand, the door swung closed and there, we were confronted by even more poo art. There were tears.
I know, I know. TMI. But hey, it's meant to be healthy to talk when one is traumatised.
Anyway, I will wash, but never be clean again after that experience. I took a photo to guilt trip the hubby when he gets home, and eldest Oub child wrote a written account of events (to be saved until Toddler Oub brings her first boyfriend home.) 7 year old middle child took advantage of the situation to show off his superior vocabulary and declared the entire incident 'ludicrous'.
But, enough.
It's over now. We've Fabrezed everywhere and the windows are all open.
You just might not to visit my house for a few weeks.
5 comments:
yeah, meant to say, that cuppa later in the week? deffo at mine ok?
lol, you'll all look back and laugh, some day
I'm laughing already - but it's more of one of those cross-the-street-it's-a-crazy-person kinda laughs...
Oh D'Oub, all our yesterdays!
How well I remember, yet try to forget, the night when, at 2 months old, both boys were projectile vomiting and my husband got ready for work (nights) while I was slumped crying in a doorway wailing "You can't leave me like this".
More recently, whilst having some pals to play, somebody grazed a knee rather significantly (or knocked an old scab off) and bled profusely all over upstairs, the caprets and each and every duvet, pillowcase and sheet. I was impressed until I started cleaning it up, and didn't stop until an hour later. With the washing machine still on.
Best one was when a strange dog visitor did a poo in the corner of the lounge. We blamed everyone under three in the room, until we looked more closely and smelt it.
So my heart to you, and I cannot stand it when someone says single mothers just do it for the council house. I wouldn't be on my own with them for ten council houses.
Funny from a distance (but remember I did just nurse a dying very old person at home for some time...).
And Titus' poo story is excellent too. You see the royals, Beckhams and co miss all this fun by having staff...
x
Titus - projectile vomiting twins and exiting husbands, I feel like crying just reading about it! And I couldn't agree with you more about those criticism of single mums - toughest bloody job.
Rachel, you have to laugh, don't you! And yes, those with staff are missing out ... I may now have to have a quiet few minutes now just imagining my life with staff (cue wistful sighs...)
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