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Concrete walls and the house of plague

Just five minutes… please…

No?

So what did you do today?

In the house of plague the husband decided to work from home hide in the garden office and so it was just me and the eldest that set off on the school run.  We don’t make the girls go there and back for no reason.  I quite like the time with him and, if we’re being honest, even more so the time on my own walking back afterwards.  This morning we did counting; forwards and backwards from 0 to 100 (the mathematician in me loves that they start with 0…), in 1’s, 2’s, 5’s, 2’s from 1 rather than 0, and then stumping him a bit with 3’s.  I love watching his face as he tries to figure things out.

It had been quiet upstairs for a little while before we’d left, and it was upon my return I discovered why.  The younger two had been industrious in his unsupervised bedroom.  Lego.  Everywhere.

And right there is where things started to go down hill.

The plan for the day was to deep clean through the house of plague and do a bit more of the jungle bedroom project.  I suggested to the miscreants that they should put the Lego back in the boxes and removed various things from their bedroom to the bathroom for cleaning.  I was under no delusion that anything would actually happen but made my first mistake of the day and left a jug in the bathroom sink.

I head downstairs and collect tools and polyfiller.  Monday’s assignment of two hooks had used seven nails and left numerous holes.  Today’s was likely to be the same.  It’s a running joke that we live in a nuclear bunker, but concrete walls and nice picture hooks don’t go hand in hand.  Masonary nails and a flexible approach to exact positioning is more where it’s at.  No Lego has been picked up but nothing further has happened either.  This is due to them no longer being in the vicinity of the Lego, but rather sat on Kamikaze’s bed seeing how many of Fuddle’s Keeper’s pants they can put on over the top of their trousers.  Superman is not half as entertaining.

They’re amused, I’m filling numerous holes and getting the wall ready for painting (when they are not at home…) and the majority of the time I keep the hammer and screwdriver away from where they can reach them.  All is going well.  Bit of polyfiller left so I do a crack in our bedroom too.

Every so often there’s still ripples from the roof saga to deal with.  As I take one picture frame down to check whether that needed polyfiller around where the nail went in, I discovered an extremely mouldy frame.  It must have got damp as water ran down the wall where I hadn’t even been aware it was running down the wall at the time.  Possibly something to do with my major concern being whether the living room ceiling was staying up, but hey ho.  The cross stitch is one that took months and I’m hoping can be cleaned up.

Clear up and move to collect up the Lego so I can hoover the whole of upstairs.

By this point I’m not really thinking about the jug at all.  Until the excited squealing starts up in the bathroom.  Turn the tap on full so the flow hits the side of the jug and you create quite a masterpiece of a fountain.  Kamikaze is in her element.  Water everywhere!  She’s got herself a step so she can reach and everything.  Her “look at me Mummy” probably didn’t get the enthusiastic response she was hoping for.

Mop up bathroom.   Add sodden towel to already full washing basket.

Question what to clean up first in terms of Lego still all over floor, hammer and screwdriver definitely within reach if she takes the step, polyfiller pot in my hand that needs to be put down somewhere or the bathroom that’s on the cleaning list anyway.

As I round up everything to put away I once more turn my back.  The stair gates are supposed to be shut.  All three children can open them, so it’s a battle I know I have long since lost.  Normally they’re pretty sensible about how they approach the stairs.  Pants over trousers have clearly gone to their heads though because the next thing I know I’m grabbing Kamikaze’s ankle as she tries to fly down the stairs head first.  She’s lined herself up on her tummy and is ready to launch.  What goes through her head?  What part of her thinks that this is going to end well?  We sit and have the conversation about feet first and reversing down the stairs carefully.  She listens intently.  Nod Nod.  Points to feet.  And then as I go to go downstairs manages to fall down them anyway.

The sheer number of times she has fallen down stairs ought to leave her frightened to even look at a staircase.  I’m really at my wits end with trying to keep her alive get through the importance of taking care on stairs, or shutting the gates.  Not that the second bit makes much difference when she can open the gates anyway.

We do Danger (yes, just identified at high speed), Response (yes, definitely got a response), Airway (yes, got to be clear for the decibels coming out), Breathing (probably good, or at least it would be if the screaming paused), Circulation (yes, still the right colour) and accept that my ears will be ringing for a while to come because when you hug a small child, their head is right next to your ear.

And it’s not actually 10:30am yet.

Somehow we make it to lunch time with everyone still in one piece and upstairs cleaned.  I would say how is a mystery, but it’s also a fairly standard level of chaos for a day in reality, so maybe it’s not so mysterious after all?

But the map of the animal world is on the wall in the jungle, and both girls are happy with this event.  They even both settled for an afternoon nap, and Mummy got to climb into bed for a bit.

Now I just need to come up with some acceptable rhyming words for “raven” and “elephant” before a new day begins, because Fuddle’s Keeper doesn’t want to stick with the simple ones like “cat” and “dog”…

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