We have a lot of kids. I know cause I live here and I have to share the toilet with them. Even with the oldest two having moved out of the house, there are still five of the little critters running, screaming, through the house trying in vain to get my attention.
Our house is loud. All the time. Especially if Master7 is trying to be funny. I often think to myself it couldn’t get worse, but it is incredible the difference to the noise level an extra two children make.
I know because the other night Cousin9 and Cousin5 were over for dinner and the place was deafening.
But it wasn’t just our ears which were being assaulted – Miss9 decided to accost one of the other senses as well.
‘My eyes! My eyes!” moaned Cousin9, stumbling into the kitchen, squinting and simultaneously rubbing his hands across his eyes and trying to focus on them.
“What’s happened?” his mother asked, worried.
“She pulled her pants down,” he said, almost gagging.
My money would have been on Miss5, but surprisingly, in this case, it was Miss9. It seems my daughter had decided to introduce her cousins to The Bum Monster.
“You get the blame for this,” Tracey hissed at me as she raced into the bedroom to ensure our child was pulling clothes on instead of off.
“I think the word you mean is credit,” I called after her, grinning. “And yes, I do.” But I wasn’t really feeling all that confident because The Bum Monster has been known to backfire.
The Bum Monster is a tradition in this house, dating back hundreds of months. When the moon is full or there’s a cheeky feeling in the air The Bum Monster can sometimes be found chasing kids around the house. Okay, it’s meI chase them, bum first, from room to room until I corner them on a bed or the lounge. The love this game because my bum is, quite simply, hilarious, with a capital H. And when The Bum Monster catches them, he sits on them, which is even funnier, with a capital HILARIOUS.
The trouble is the kids don’t always dress appropriately when they do The Bum Monster. The younger ones, like Miss2 and Miss5, for example, tend to go the full monty when they attempt it, and actually release the beast, which tends not to illicit as much merriment from whichever poor kid they’re chasing.
Tracey, as you might have guessed, feels I might be encouraging her darlings towards becoming social pariahs, and no doubt, as she stomped out of the kitchen, was already adding this incident to her quiver of poison tipped arguments against letting The Bum Monster back into our house.
But I was saved by my daughter’s prudishness.
“It’s okay,” Tracey said as she came back into the kitchen, looking relieved. “She kept her undies on.”
(In case you missed it, a previous post a few weeks ago THE NAKED TRUTH also touched on The Bum Monster – hit the link and have a catch up read if you missed it)
When not typing away over here and checking his stats every two minutes
Bruce Devereaux hangs out at his ‘BIG FAMILY little income’ Facebook Page.
’raising a family on little more than laughs’