for things to change.
Since I last graced the blogosphere Master 3 is now Master 4.
Miss 5 has had her first prep orientation session.
And Miss 6 has had her first prima donna epic meltdown.
I had fully intended to return to this little forum, however being that I got myself 'out of the habit' I simply did not take it up.
A brief rundown of life as it stands.
My work is insanely busy, but I am loving it.
Miss 6 is coming to the end of her grade 1 year and is developing more and more of a personality, as the 3 all are, and is becoming over so much more dramatic. But not for no gain. She wants to be on television. Yes. She does. And takes great pleasure in "performing" for anyone who will sit still long enough to listen. Adorable.
Miss 5 is more ready for school than any child I have ever seen. Today she had her first orientation session. Yes. Just today. The day after epic storms saw me outside at 2am consoling our puppy (who is incidentally enormous, but still a puppy nonetheless) and also the day on which Master 4 decided that he could turn off the alarm himself, and didn't need to bother me with it.
At the orientation Miss 5 was in her element. She loved it. And coming home she said "they asked me heaps of questions and I answered them all". I, being interested, asked "what did they ask you?"
I wasn't prepared for the answer.
"They asked me if I knew what magnificent meant."
O. K.
I waited.
"So what did you say baby?"
"I said magnificent means something amazing."
And isn't she magnificent. My baby darling Miss 5.
Master 4 gave himself a blood nose last night. How? He took a hot wheels car to bed. Played with it just a little too vigorously. Dropped said car on his nose and next thing bring on the bloodworms. Fabulous. He was fine. Just a bit bloody.
Anyway, this is me saying I'm not dead. I'm very much alive. And I think I'm just about back in the mindset to come back.
I'll tell you a bit more in the days and weeks to come. For now though, hi again. I've missed you.
And I'm back :)
Monday, 27 October 2014
Thursday, 18 September 2014
You would be forgiven
for thinking I was murdering someone this evening. Or at the very least torturing them to within an inch of their life.
Why?
Because he is 3. And I asked him to get out of the bath.
He did not get out of the bath.
I asked him again.
He did not get out of the bath.
And I gave him three……two……one……
And took him out of the bath.
What ensued could be likened to the demonic possession scenes in the Exorcist, minus the projectile vomiting (that was the other day).
At one point I thought his little jugular vein might just explode.
At least he isn't shy about expressing his opinions. Loudly. Incredibly loudly.
The neighbours must think we are feral. Seriously. The tantrums, and the sheer power behind each of my darling child's screams, well, they would shake the most stoic ones, right to the core.
He would have been a rocking town crier.
Anyway, eventually, after what seemed like hours, he did stop. And I put him to bed. And did the standard "Night night, love you, sweet dreams" that I do every night, even on those nights where I am pushed to my very limits… so sometimes the tone may not be exactly "gentle" but still.
Tonight I went back in. I had to. I explained to my nearly 4 year old that I truly hate getting cross at him. I want to cuddle him and laugh with him and give him butterfly kisses on his cheek and listen to him laugh. I don't want to yell at him, and I don't want to say the same things over and over again.
And I suggested that next time, rather than chucking a massive wobbly, perhaps he could try talking to me about what was upsetting him.
I really don't know if he understood what I was saying, but it sure as hell made me feel better anyway.
It isn't wrong that I took a photo of him mid tantrum is it? Reason my child is crying….. I got him out of the bath.
Yep. Kids.
They do say some funny things. And you find yourself saying funny things too.
The other night we were eating dinner, and Master 3 lifted up his cup to the girls and promptly clinked it with Miss 6's glass, declaring loudly "CHEESE!"
Cheese.
"Cheers little man, cheers. Not cheese."
Massive grins, massive giggles, and prompt declaration of "CHEEEEEEEERS!"
I'll leave you with a "thing you never thought you would hear yourself say"….
You don't need goggles for bed.
Night.
Why?
Because he is 3. And I asked him to get out of the bath.
He did not get out of the bath.
I asked him again.
He did not get out of the bath.
And I gave him three……two……one……
And took him out of the bath.
What ensued could be likened to the demonic possession scenes in the Exorcist, minus the projectile vomiting (that was the other day).
At one point I thought his little jugular vein might just explode.
At least he isn't shy about expressing his opinions. Loudly. Incredibly loudly.
The neighbours must think we are feral. Seriously. The tantrums, and the sheer power behind each of my darling child's screams, well, they would shake the most stoic ones, right to the core.
He would have been a rocking town crier.
Anyway, eventually, after what seemed like hours, he did stop. And I put him to bed. And did the standard "Night night, love you, sweet dreams" that I do every night, even on those nights where I am pushed to my very limits… so sometimes the tone may not be exactly "gentle" but still.
Tonight I went back in. I had to. I explained to my nearly 4 year old that I truly hate getting cross at him. I want to cuddle him and laugh with him and give him butterfly kisses on his cheek and listen to him laugh. I don't want to yell at him, and I don't want to say the same things over and over again.
And I suggested that next time, rather than chucking a massive wobbly, perhaps he could try talking to me about what was upsetting him.
I really don't know if he understood what I was saying, but it sure as hell made me feel better anyway.
It isn't wrong that I took a photo of him mid tantrum is it? Reason my child is crying….. I got him out of the bath.
Yep. Kids.
They do say some funny things. And you find yourself saying funny things too.
The other night we were eating dinner, and Master 3 lifted up his cup to the girls and promptly clinked it with Miss 6's glass, declaring loudly "CHEESE!"
Cheese.
"Cheers little man, cheers. Not cheese."
Massive grins, massive giggles, and prompt declaration of "CHEEEEEEEERS!"
I'll leave you with a "thing you never thought you would hear yourself say"….
You don't need goggles for bed.
Night.
Monday, 15 September 2014
A reason to be proud.
That is what we are given, as parents, so very many times throughout the lives of our babies.
Miss 6 was moved up to the blue readers today. She was just about beside herself when she told me, and I was proud as punch. I gave her massive cuddles and kisses and shared her obvious excitement, and it was just a beautifully special moment.
Master 3 finally put some pants on, without my asking. This is the child who wakes in the morning, strips off and runs around the house in the all together for as long as is humanly possible before I manage to wrangle underpants on his tiny little patootie. And when he put his pants on by himself this morning, without my asking, well, yes, I was proud. And when he told me about when he went to the circus and there was a man there who was standing on a football, actually, no, a soccer ball, and well, isn't he a bit clever, in the words of Master 3, well, super cute and mega proudness at my little man's ability to express himself.
Miss 5 didn't spill a drop tonight. Not. A. Drop. She managed to get to the bathtub and lean over enough that none of the vomit landed on the floor, or on herself. And by god I was proud of her for that. And my non-vomit-related proudness of my darling Miss 5 is that she is just such a gorgeous soul. Massive perfectionist. Amazing at what she does. Immensely talented at vomit channelling.
You are not warned often enough prior to becoming a parent just how much of the bodily fluids and solids of your child you will be coming into contact with. And not even just the obvious ones. Stuff you never knew existed, except perhaps in horror films.
Ask any parent about a "number 3" and you will see them physically recoil, shudder, dry retch and many times simply just change the topic.
I am not sure how many non-parents have been woken up by another party by virtue of said other party vomiting on their face. That was a night I won't forget in a hurry.
I will also not forget the night I was awoken, quite concerned that there was a leak in the roof. No. There was a child lying beside me. In my bed. Asleep. Leaking. Profusely. Getting peed on is another way in which I really do not love being woken up.
For those who are you yet to have children, I'm going to warn you about a few things for if you do take that incredibly rewarding path. For those who already have children, nod and chuckle as you recognise those which apply to you.
You will be peed on.
You will more than likely be shat on.
You will have boogers wiped on you.
You will be farted on. Your children will hold in their farts until you are changing their nappies then let them rip and laugh. And sometimes they will follow through. And they will laugh even harder.
If you are not directly shat on, it will be on your clothes. And you won't know from where the smell is coming, but you'll smell it everywhere you go.
You will utter the phrase "get your finger out of your nose" at least half a dozen times a day. Multiply this for more children.
You will hear your mother come out of your mouth and you will gasp. And then you will instantly understand. And that is quite cathartic.
You will be "that" mother when your child gets an award at assembly. Because seriously, it is super cool to see them so excited and you get all proud (not in a bodily functions reaching bath kind of way, that is a whole different level of proud).
You will never sleep again. Ok that is a bit dramatic. But seriously. Try setting your alarm to go off each night every 20 minutes for about 4 years. It never gets easier.
You will sound like a broken record on numerous occasions. And you will tell your children you sound like a broken record. And they will ask you what a record is.
You will always feel as though you are stuffing at least some parts up. You aren't. You're being the best mum you can be.
You will cry when your children grow out of shoes you only bought them weeks before. Not because your babies are growing up, but shoes, well, they aren't cheap.
You may never jump on a trampoline again.
Take baby wipes with you wherever you go. No matter what. And use them for everything. Bathroom needs a clean? Baby wipe. Shoes need polishing? Baby wipe. Ceiling fan is dusty? Baby wipe. Quick makeup remover? Baby wipe.
There are lots of things I could say. I won't. Well, I may at another time. I can't actually even remember what my point was.
I didn't get vomited on though. That's a positive for the day.
Miss 6 was moved up to the blue readers today. She was just about beside herself when she told me, and I was proud as punch. I gave her massive cuddles and kisses and shared her obvious excitement, and it was just a beautifully special moment.
Master 3 finally put some pants on, without my asking. This is the child who wakes in the morning, strips off and runs around the house in the all together for as long as is humanly possible before I manage to wrangle underpants on his tiny little patootie. And when he put his pants on by himself this morning, without my asking, well, yes, I was proud. And when he told me about when he went to the circus and there was a man there who was standing on a football, actually, no, a soccer ball, and well, isn't he a bit clever, in the words of Master 3, well, super cute and mega proudness at my little man's ability to express himself.
Miss 5 didn't spill a drop tonight. Not. A. Drop. She managed to get to the bathtub and lean over enough that none of the vomit landed on the floor, or on herself. And by god I was proud of her for that. And my non-vomit-related proudness of my darling Miss 5 is that she is just such a gorgeous soul. Massive perfectionist. Amazing at what she does. Immensely talented at vomit channelling.
You are not warned often enough prior to becoming a parent just how much of the bodily fluids and solids of your child you will be coming into contact with. And not even just the obvious ones. Stuff you never knew existed, except perhaps in horror films.
Ask any parent about a "number 3" and you will see them physically recoil, shudder, dry retch and many times simply just change the topic.
I am not sure how many non-parents have been woken up by another party by virtue of said other party vomiting on their face. That was a night I won't forget in a hurry.
I will also not forget the night I was awoken, quite concerned that there was a leak in the roof. No. There was a child lying beside me. In my bed. Asleep. Leaking. Profusely. Getting peed on is another way in which I really do not love being woken up.
For those who are you yet to have children, I'm going to warn you about a few things for if you do take that incredibly rewarding path. For those who already have children, nod and chuckle as you recognise those which apply to you.
You will be peed on.
You will more than likely be shat on.
You will have boogers wiped on you.
You will be farted on. Your children will hold in their farts until you are changing their nappies then let them rip and laugh. And sometimes they will follow through. And they will laugh even harder.
If you are not directly shat on, it will be on your clothes. And you won't know from where the smell is coming, but you'll smell it everywhere you go.
You will utter the phrase "get your finger out of your nose" at least half a dozen times a day. Multiply this for more children.
You will hear your mother come out of your mouth and you will gasp. And then you will instantly understand. And that is quite cathartic.
You will be "that" mother when your child gets an award at assembly. Because seriously, it is super cool to see them so excited and you get all proud (not in a bodily functions reaching bath kind of way, that is a whole different level of proud).
You will never sleep again. Ok that is a bit dramatic. But seriously. Try setting your alarm to go off each night every 20 minutes for about 4 years. It never gets easier.
You will sound like a broken record on numerous occasions. And you will tell your children you sound like a broken record. And they will ask you what a record is.
You will always feel as though you are stuffing at least some parts up. You aren't. You're being the best mum you can be.
You will cry when your children grow out of shoes you only bought them weeks before. Not because your babies are growing up, but shoes, well, they aren't cheap.
You may never jump on a trampoline again.
Take baby wipes with you wherever you go. No matter what. And use them for everything. Bathroom needs a clean? Baby wipe. Shoes need polishing? Baby wipe. Ceiling fan is dusty? Baby wipe. Quick makeup remover? Baby wipe.
There are lots of things I could say. I won't. Well, I may at another time. I can't actually even remember what my point was.
I didn't get vomited on though. That's a positive for the day.
Saturday, 13 September 2014
Time got away from me.
I'll leave it at that.
But today I knew I was coming back tonight, because of something Master 3 said.
We were driving along the Western Ring Road in Melbourne, having just attended a fabulous birthday party at an indoor trampoline venue, where the kids bounced and bounced and bounced and then ate and ate and ate and left there with rosy cheeks and blue lips from the cupcakes.
And we were chatting about life and things in general, as we tend to do on car trips.
Master 3, quite suddenly, and not prompted by anything in the conversation or otherwise let out "I know why Jake died."
I was, understandably, quite taken aback.
"Do you little man? Why did Jake die?"
I wasn't quite sure what to expect in answer.
"That cloud took him."
Um. What?
"A cloud took him?"
"That cloud, that cloud is the reason he died."
"Which cloud baby?"
"The stripy one, there."
And that's when I saw it.
"You mean the cloud directly over the hospital?"
And he said "Yes. That cloud is the reason Jake died."
And I'm getting goose bumps even recanting the tale.
He was transfixed. And so very sure.
He certainly has an eye. I'll let you decide how to interpret that.
But I just had to share……..
But today I knew I was coming back tonight, because of something Master 3 said.
We were driving along the Western Ring Road in Melbourne, having just attended a fabulous birthday party at an indoor trampoline venue, where the kids bounced and bounced and bounced and then ate and ate and ate and left there with rosy cheeks and blue lips from the cupcakes.
And we were chatting about life and things in general, as we tend to do on car trips.
Master 3, quite suddenly, and not prompted by anything in the conversation or otherwise let out "I know why Jake died."
I was, understandably, quite taken aback.
"Do you little man? Why did Jake die?"
I wasn't quite sure what to expect in answer.
"That cloud took him."
Um. What?
"A cloud took him?"
"That cloud, that cloud is the reason he died."
"Which cloud baby?"
"The stripy one, there."
And that's when I saw it.
"You mean the cloud directly over the hospital?"
And he said "Yes. That cloud is the reason Jake died."
And I'm getting goose bumps even recanting the tale.
He was transfixed. And so very sure.
He certainly has an eye. I'll let you decide how to interpret that.
But I just had to share……..
Tuesday, 15 July 2014
Sometimes in your life
you are lucky enough to meet someone special.
Someone who makes you smile simply by seeing them.
Someone who can always make you feel better no matter how crappy a day you have had.
Someone that you could just hug and hug and hug and never want to let go.
Someone who will never judge you.
Someone who will greet you with joy and love whenever they see you, whether it was 5 minutes since they last saw you or 5 hours.
15 years ago I was lucky enough to meet such a special someone. And I welcomed him into my home and he became my first baby.
And a week ago I lost him.
And a part of me died with him.
My heart aches. I feel a sorrow I have never felt before.
I am truly blessed to have had him in my life at all, let alone for so long. I cherish the memories I have of him. And I will love him forever more.
Rest in peace Jakey boy. Mummy loves you xxx
Someone who makes you smile simply by seeing them.
Someone who can always make you feel better no matter how crappy a day you have had.
Someone that you could just hug and hug and hug and never want to let go.
Someone who will never judge you.
Someone who will greet you with joy and love whenever they see you, whether it was 5 minutes since they last saw you or 5 hours.
15 years ago I was lucky enough to meet such a special someone. And I welcomed him into my home and he became my first baby.
And a week ago I lost him.
And a part of me died with him.
My heart aches. I feel a sorrow I have never felt before.
I am truly blessed to have had him in my life at all, let alone for so long. I cherish the memories I have of him. And I will love him forever more.
Rest in peace Jakey boy. Mummy loves you xxx
Tuesday, 1 July 2014
What's your favourite number?
I found myself posing this question to the mini ones this evening as we drove away from our third milk bar visit for the evening.
No, we don't adore milk bars, but I was searching for something. Something that you would think would be rather easy to find but, as it turns out, in my particular suburb appears not to be.
Today was Miss 4's transition to being Miss 5. Her birthday.
The day started with her, as per usual, in my bed, terribly comfortable and taking up the majority of the space.
I was quite proud of the fact that I was able to stall her sufficiently to achieve breakfast for all, and all kids dressed before the presents were brought out. She opened them gleefully, was rapt with the contents, and then excited to leave them at home, knowing she was coming back to them, in order to go to "school" and take with her the 27 loot bags I had stayed up a fair thwack of last night putting together.
The things we do.
Anyway, the milk bar. Why milk bars?
Well I asked Miss 5 what she wanted for dinner, half expecting her to say McDonalds, which I was fully prepared for, and willing to provide. I'm not a huge fan, but I know the kids are, and it was Miss 5's birthday and she got to choose.
I'll recap for you. For her 4th birthday she chose to go to the Grand Hyatt for brunch.
Any ideas what she wanted for her 5th birthday?
Anything? Anyone?
I was surprised. I will tell you that much.
The request for dinner? A jam sandwich.
Yes.
A. Jam. Sandwich.
So I went in search of some nice bread that I could whip in and grab without having to wrangle three children through a supermarket.
Milk bar #1. "We don't sell bread." Wow. A milk bar that doesn't sell bread. What is the world coming to?
Milk bar #2. Granted it wasn't their fault. I couldn't get my car into the parking spot. I kinda got halfway before being nearly cleaned up by a bus and figured that was quite possibly a sign so off I went in search of Milk bar #3.
Milk bar #3. Fresh and amazingly soft bread. Score.
So back to what I was saying. What's your favourite number was asked as we were leaving Milk bar #3, as the natives were becoming restless and to be honest I just wanted to distract them.
"10!" screamed Master 3.
"Wow that's a great number" I replied.
"Miss 6, what's YOUR favourite number?"
"90!"
"Really?"
"Yes!!"
"Ok then….. So, birthday girl, what's YOUR favourite number?"
"101."
Fair enough too.
And then Miss 6 took it a little further.
"Do you know which number is my least favourite?? Miss birthday girl, what is YOUR least favourite number? Mine is a trillion."
"A trillion?" I queried.
"Yes, a trillion."
"Ok, so why don't you like a trillion?"
"Because, it's a trillion. How much is a trillion?"
"It's a lot."
Miss 5 decided to put in her 2 cents' worth.
"You know, infinity is the last number."
I had to say something. "Well, technically infinity is not actually a number." Oh god. What am I doing? What am I doing?? WHAT. AM. I. DOING?????
"Yes it is."
"No baby, it isn't."
"What do you mean infinity isn't a number?"
What followed is an example of how the time space continuum can be rattled and shaken to within an inch of its life whilst arguing complex theories of relativity and space and physics and chemistry. In other words, picture a 40 year old woman trying to explain the concept of infinity to a 6, 5 and 3 year old.
I think I got through to Master 3.
"To infinity, and BEYOND!"
"Infinity is my favourite number."
"It isn't a number."
"Yes it is."
"To infinity, and BEYOND!" Master 3. Again.
"To infinity, and BEYOND!" Miss 5.
"STOP. SAYING. THAT." Master 3.
"She only said it once baby."
Ugh. What did I do that for?
So we did finally make it home. Miss 5 had her much wanted jam sandwich, as did Miss 6, and Master 3 had Mi Goreng noodles. Because he didn't want a sandwich. And to be honest, of late, I know which battles to pick with him.
Time got away from us as I heard the theme to Spicks and Specks in the background. Channel 22 had been put on as we arrived home, but little watched as the Barbie lego took front and centre for Miss 5, Miss 6 was of course watching on, and Master 3 was fighting with the mess of Mi Goreng noodles surrounding him. Spicks and Specks follows the children's programming of the day.
I adore Spicks and Specks. Adore it. The kids don't mind a bit of Spicks and Specks action either.
But what was most adorable tonight was Miss 5 talking to Master 3 about it.
"Adam Hills. That's the man's name." she said to Master 3.
"Adam Heels?" he replied.
"No, Adam HILLS. Like *sung* Five little ducks went out one day, over the hills and far away. HILLS. Like those hills."
Such an amazing little chickadee.
Happy birthday my wonderful little darling. Love you times infinity…. and beyond…..
No, we don't adore milk bars, but I was searching for something. Something that you would think would be rather easy to find but, as it turns out, in my particular suburb appears not to be.
Today was Miss 4's transition to being Miss 5. Her birthday.
The day started with her, as per usual, in my bed, terribly comfortable and taking up the majority of the space.
I was quite proud of the fact that I was able to stall her sufficiently to achieve breakfast for all, and all kids dressed before the presents were brought out. She opened them gleefully, was rapt with the contents, and then excited to leave them at home, knowing she was coming back to them, in order to go to "school" and take with her the 27 loot bags I had stayed up a fair thwack of last night putting together.
The things we do.
Anyway, the milk bar. Why milk bars?
Well I asked Miss 5 what she wanted for dinner, half expecting her to say McDonalds, which I was fully prepared for, and willing to provide. I'm not a huge fan, but I know the kids are, and it was Miss 5's birthday and she got to choose.
I'll recap for you. For her 4th birthday she chose to go to the Grand Hyatt for brunch.
Any ideas what she wanted for her 5th birthday?
Anything? Anyone?
I was surprised. I will tell you that much.
The request for dinner? A jam sandwich.
Yes.
A. Jam. Sandwich.
So I went in search of some nice bread that I could whip in and grab without having to wrangle three children through a supermarket.
Milk bar #1. "We don't sell bread." Wow. A milk bar that doesn't sell bread. What is the world coming to?
Milk bar #2. Granted it wasn't their fault. I couldn't get my car into the parking spot. I kinda got halfway before being nearly cleaned up by a bus and figured that was quite possibly a sign so off I went in search of Milk bar #3.
Milk bar #3. Fresh and amazingly soft bread. Score.
So back to what I was saying. What's your favourite number was asked as we were leaving Milk bar #3, as the natives were becoming restless and to be honest I just wanted to distract them.
"10!" screamed Master 3.
"Wow that's a great number" I replied.
"Miss 6, what's YOUR favourite number?"
"90!"
"Really?"
"Yes!!"
"Ok then….. So, birthday girl, what's YOUR favourite number?"
"101."
Fair enough too.
And then Miss 6 took it a little further.
"Do you know which number is my least favourite?? Miss birthday girl, what is YOUR least favourite number? Mine is a trillion."
"A trillion?" I queried.
"Yes, a trillion."
"Ok, so why don't you like a trillion?"
"Because, it's a trillion. How much is a trillion?"
"It's a lot."
Miss 5 decided to put in her 2 cents' worth.
"You know, infinity is the last number."
I had to say something. "Well, technically infinity is not actually a number." Oh god. What am I doing? What am I doing?? WHAT. AM. I. DOING?????
"Yes it is."
"No baby, it isn't."
"What do you mean infinity isn't a number?"
What followed is an example of how the time space continuum can be rattled and shaken to within an inch of its life whilst arguing complex theories of relativity and space and physics and chemistry. In other words, picture a 40 year old woman trying to explain the concept of infinity to a 6, 5 and 3 year old.
I think I got through to Master 3.
"To infinity, and BEYOND!"
"Infinity is my favourite number."
"It isn't a number."
"Yes it is."
"To infinity, and BEYOND!" Master 3. Again.
"To infinity, and BEYOND!" Miss 5.
"STOP. SAYING. THAT." Master 3.
"She only said it once baby."
Ugh. What did I do that for?
So we did finally make it home. Miss 5 had her much wanted jam sandwich, as did Miss 6, and Master 3 had Mi Goreng noodles. Because he didn't want a sandwich. And to be honest, of late, I know which battles to pick with him.
Time got away from us as I heard the theme to Spicks and Specks in the background. Channel 22 had been put on as we arrived home, but little watched as the Barbie lego took front and centre for Miss 5, Miss 6 was of course watching on, and Master 3 was fighting with the mess of Mi Goreng noodles surrounding him. Spicks and Specks follows the children's programming of the day.
I adore Spicks and Specks. Adore it. The kids don't mind a bit of Spicks and Specks action either.
But what was most adorable tonight was Miss 5 talking to Master 3 about it.
"Adam Hills. That's the man's name." she said to Master 3.
"Adam Heels?" he replied.
"No, Adam HILLS. Like *sung* Five little ducks went out one day, over the hills and far away. HILLS. Like those hills."
Such an amazing little chickadee.
Happy birthday my wonderful little darling. Love you times infinity…. and beyond…..
Monday, 30 June 2014
I'll give you the heads up.
If you don't insert the smoke detector battery correctly the smoke detector will let off a series of beeps at intervals of approximately 3.5 to 7 minutes.
It will not do this immediately having been changed. No. That would be far too convenient. It will wait. For hours. Sometimes days. Who knows. Whenever it is, it will make sure that there is nobody tall enough to fix it in the house at the time said beeping commences.
So I heard it go off. And my first instinct was to do what I always do when it goes off, and I grabbed a tea towel, went into the foyer and started fanning it.
And then I realised. There was no smoke.
Fabulous.
And so I did what every short person in the world does. I got a chair and stood on it, reaching madly for the ceiling, knowing full well that last time I did that I couldn't reach it, and then questioning myself as to why I thought that I may have grown an extra 6 inches or so in the last 6 months.
So down I hopped. And looked up. And sighed.
And then I went back into the kitchen, hung up the tea towel, became distracted by goodness knows what and then approximately 4 minutes later it went off again. Two beeps. Enough to make me deer in headlights it. Then it stopped. So I relaxed. And then it beeped again. Three times.
So I did what I usually do, and grabbed the tea towel, hightailed it into the foyer, and started madly waggling the tea towel in the air.
Woah. Déjà vu.
No. Smoke.
So then I said it out loud, as if that would then reaffirm in my mind that there was, in fact, no smoke. Which there wasn't. There was a teeny tiny moth. And I don't like moths at all. But that's another story. But with regards to the smoke, there was, actually, no smoke.
Smoke detector. Go home. You're drunk.
And so I decided I would look at the old battery. The one that had been removed from the smoke detector to be replaced with the new, improved, apparently malfunctioning battery.
It was bent. The little prong things on the battery were bent. My heart just about stopped. What if this meant that the smoke detector was broken. Like on the inside. And what if it meant that even if I DID manage to prise the mongrel battery out of the smoke detector, it STILL went off? I didn't even know if that was possible but I was going through all sorts of scenarios when the smoke detector started beeping again. Wherein I said to it "Stop. Stop doing that." and waggled my arms around like someone who has just walked into a spiderweb.
Seriously. The night was not going well.
So I drew out the big guns. I texted my friend and asked to borrow her husband.
Then I went and got a chair, put it underneath the bastard randomly screaming smoke detector, and stood there looking at it, clutching my phone in one hand and the bent old battery in the other, willing the smoke detector not to go off again, and when it did nearly fell off the chair and recommenced telling the smoke detector to stop it.
When my friend's husband arrived, ladder in hand (and Woolies stickers in his pocket, thanks very much to his gorgeous wife), he was as welcome as a souvlaki after a big night out.
Battery was ill-inserted it would seem. Problem solved. Thanks very much. And I really mean that. I owe you a bottle of wine……
So the air is now quiet. No beeps. No squawks from children (who went to bed nearly 1.5 hours later than usual due to the outing this evening, about which I haven't spoken but I daresay I may at some stage in the very near future).
Calm.
So calm that I am able to become acutely aware of the fact that tomorrow my darling Miss 4 becomes Miss 5.
The time does fly. Except when there is a malfunctioning smoke detector. Then my God does it drag. In case you wondered….
It will not do this immediately having been changed. No. That would be far too convenient. It will wait. For hours. Sometimes days. Who knows. Whenever it is, it will make sure that there is nobody tall enough to fix it in the house at the time said beeping commences.
So I heard it go off. And my first instinct was to do what I always do when it goes off, and I grabbed a tea towel, went into the foyer and started fanning it.
And then I realised. There was no smoke.
Fabulous.
And so I did what every short person in the world does. I got a chair and stood on it, reaching madly for the ceiling, knowing full well that last time I did that I couldn't reach it, and then questioning myself as to why I thought that I may have grown an extra 6 inches or so in the last 6 months.
So down I hopped. And looked up. And sighed.
And then I went back into the kitchen, hung up the tea towel, became distracted by goodness knows what and then approximately 4 minutes later it went off again. Two beeps. Enough to make me deer in headlights it. Then it stopped. So I relaxed. And then it beeped again. Three times.
So I did what I usually do, and grabbed the tea towel, hightailed it into the foyer, and started madly waggling the tea towel in the air.
Woah. Déjà vu.
No. Smoke.
So then I said it out loud, as if that would then reaffirm in my mind that there was, in fact, no smoke. Which there wasn't. There was a teeny tiny moth. And I don't like moths at all. But that's another story. But with regards to the smoke, there was, actually, no smoke.
Smoke detector. Go home. You're drunk.
And so I decided I would look at the old battery. The one that had been removed from the smoke detector to be replaced with the new, improved, apparently malfunctioning battery.
It was bent. The little prong things on the battery were bent. My heart just about stopped. What if this meant that the smoke detector was broken. Like on the inside. And what if it meant that even if I DID manage to prise the mongrel battery out of the smoke detector, it STILL went off? I didn't even know if that was possible but I was going through all sorts of scenarios when the smoke detector started beeping again. Wherein I said to it "Stop. Stop doing that." and waggled my arms around like someone who has just walked into a spiderweb.
Seriously. The night was not going well.
So I drew out the big guns. I texted my friend and asked to borrow her husband.
Then I went and got a chair, put it underneath the bastard randomly screaming smoke detector, and stood there looking at it, clutching my phone in one hand and the bent old battery in the other, willing the smoke detector not to go off again, and when it did nearly fell off the chair and recommenced telling the smoke detector to stop it.
When my friend's husband arrived, ladder in hand (and Woolies stickers in his pocket, thanks very much to his gorgeous wife), he was as welcome as a souvlaki after a big night out.
Battery was ill-inserted it would seem. Problem solved. Thanks very much. And I really mean that. I owe you a bottle of wine……
So the air is now quiet. No beeps. No squawks from children (who went to bed nearly 1.5 hours later than usual due to the outing this evening, about which I haven't spoken but I daresay I may at some stage in the very near future).
Calm.
So calm that I am able to become acutely aware of the fact that tomorrow my darling Miss 4 becomes Miss 5.
The time does fly. Except when there is a malfunctioning smoke detector. Then my God does it drag. In case you wondered….
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