I received two emails from Tracey on Friday.
The first started with, “Hello! So my day is getting better,” and concluded with, “I will put away the folding today and my make up. Love you long time.”
This was good news on a number of fronts. Firstly, with towels, sheets and blankets the washing pile was so big at this point three children could bury their way into it and nothing would be sticking out. Don’t ask how we know. Secondly, the kids have been sick most the week so any use of the word ‘better’ is very promising. And, thirdly, because they’ve all been so ill, Tracey and I are shagged. Her email seemed to hint we might get some sleep soon.
And the fact is, I get to take all the credit.
You see, the day before I’d gone to the chemist and purchased $120 of nasal drops, syrups, lozenges and creams. Me.
What’s more, as the lovely lady behind the counter was bagging my goodies up for me, and I was wondering if I shouldn’t perhaps have brought the trailer, she offered me five tubs of goo.
“Do you want them?” she asked. “The kids can play with them. It might keep them occupied.”
I readily accepted. Mainly because I love free stuff, but also because I figured if it would keep the kids busy for an hour and let Tracey catch up on things around the house, like her cup of tea intake, then I’d be some sort of hero.
Well, let me tell you it did far better than one hour: It kept the kids occupied for closer to two. Tracey as well.
Did you spot the problem with that last comment?
My kids haven’t had a lot of experience with goo. Mind, they’ve had heaps with playdough.
Playdough is fun because you can make it into things, like people or jewelry.
Goo, on the other hand, doesn’t lend itself to making particularly good anything. Especially, it turns out, necklaces…
…as Tracey found when Miss7 burst into her office.
“Get it out! Get it out!” she begged her mum.
And then, while Tracey was trying to wash, scrape and cuss it out of Miss7’s hair she had a moment of deja vu.
“Mummy!” cried Miss2, pulling on the sticky green mess at the back of her own head. “Get tout!”
“Why would you do that when you’ve already seen the mess in your sister’s hair?” demanded Tracey.
The answer no doubt being, as it is to so many questions asked of two year olds, because Me Too!
Which brings me pointedly to the second email I received from Tracey that day, which started with, “You!!!!! Grrr…..” It went on to describe the day she was having and how this was all my fault, ending with, “Oh and the washing isn’t away yet.”
Which is a stroke of luck, because by the time I arrive home from work it should be a big enough pile I’ll have somewhere to hide.
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