Well Played, Tracey

Things heated up in the kitchen this morning as we raced around attempting the seemingly impossible – to get the kids and us to three different events all happening at the same time.

You might wonder why we didn’t simply start our morning a little earlier so we could fit it all in. Well, Tracey can answer that for you.

“You’re kidding, right?” she swore at me. I don’t know how, but she can do that without using actual cuss words. “You’re telling me now you have to be a physio? Now. As we’re about to leave.”

“You know I go every fortnight,” I reminded her.

“But didn’t you go last week?”

“That was to pay for the session I missed the week before,” I explained.

“You could have reminded me last night.”

“Actually,” I said, “I couldn’t. My alarm only just went off. I’d forgotten all about it.”

So to summarise, the reason we couldn’t start our morning a little earlier to fit it all in:

“You’re an idiot,” she huffed correctly.

I mean, I’m agreeing with her now but this morning I was a little put out. Which is why, armed with the knowledge our youngest miss was tagging along with Tracey to meet up with a friend, when Miss4 marched into the kitchen playing an instrument I saw an opportunity.

“Why don’t you bring that with you to the car?” I suggested to Miss4 as she refilled her lungs to blast out another ‘tune’.

One note. Poorly played. Misplayed. Over and over.

I have a theory that at some point in the past one teacher must have turned to another and complained about a group of parents, asking, “What can we do to get back at them?”

“I’ve got just the thing,” the other more creative and vindictive one replied.

And this is why households throughout the country suffer the most nails-down-a-chalkboard of all the instruments…the dreaded recorder. Every household has one. Usually hidden at the back of a drawer.

Miss4 would have skipped to the car in happiness, except to do so would have risked banging her teeth on the mouthpiece.

Tweet! TwEEEEk! TweeeEEEk!

She continued to have the time of her life as I proceeded to buckle her in and we backed out.

“Beautiful, sweetie,” I told her. “Music to my ears.”

“Don’t stop,” Tracey called over her shoulder.

“Can’t you blow that thing any louder?” I countered loudly. It had to be loud if I stood a chance at being heard over the music ‘drifting’ in from the row of seats behind us.

“From the top! A-one and a-two and a-” said Trace.

TwEEEEk! TweeeEEEk! TwEEEEeeeeeEEEEK!

At this point I risked a glance at my wife. “I can switch off to that, you know. I’m the king of switching off.”

Tracey looked over at me, surprised.

“I’m sorry? Did you say something? I’d switched off.”

“You can drop me here,” I grinned. “I guess I’ll see you two in an hour.” I shoved my head in the back. “You sound so good,” I told my daughter. She glowed. “Keep it up.”

Which I thought was hilarious – right up until Tracey went shopping tonight and left me home to get the kids sorted for baths and bed.

“Have fun,” she grinned as she shot out the door, followed by the sort of sound that would have deaf people covering their ears.

I turned to find all the kids marching into the kitchen.

Seems we’ve not one but five recorders in the house. And in case you think they gave them up willingly, I ended up under a bed trying to snatch one off Miss4. Given the ‘clever like a teacher’ smile and the groceries she arrived home with an hour or so later, I suspect Tracey might have bribed them with promises of strawberries if they made it hard for me.

Well played, Tracey, well played.

You Devereaux kids, not so much. Unfortunately for me and the neighbours.