Under oath I’ll swear I was being a good, responsible dad. The circumstantial evidence, however, is really stacked against me.
Tracey, as is so often the case when these things occur, had ducked off down the coast for the day to photograph a wedding. Me and the older kids had a day of table top games planned testing out some of the fourteen games Santa had gifted for Christmas. Part of this involved watching Wil Wheaton’s Table Top on Youtube, where it turns out Santa had discovered the games in the first place.
This was my downfall.
Lying on my bed watching Youtube videos I’d already seen a couple of times, I think it was inevitable I’d fall asleep.
I woke up only when Miss2 slapped the side of my face with what I thought was an iceblock. She didn’t have an iceblock when I went to bed. Sorry, I mean, when I lay down to watch Youtube with Miss11 and Master9.
I begrudgingly opened an eye.
Miss11 and Master9 were nowhere to be seen.
What I did see worried the hell out of me, although I was wrong about the iceblock. She had a tub of yohurt.
“What the hell…?” I started, and my face may have been a horror, what with the splattering of yoghurt and the FFS expression, because she ran off.
“Oh my god,” I said when I followed. My youngest son was in the kitchen making himself a Milo. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Ages, Dad,” he said.
“But it’s still 2015, isn’t it?”
Who’d have thought one child could do so much damage in half an hour.
Forgetting the yoghurt for the moment, she’d emptied the laundry basket. I knew that because it was in the dining area.
She’d been into the kitchen drawers. I knew that because my stubby coolers were in the kitchen.
She’d been playing in the bathroom sink. I knew that because she’d broken the drawer when she stood in it to get to the tap.
But just what the hell had been going on for both a spoon and the toilet brush to be in the dog’s bowls is something I don’t want to think about.
So despite all good intentions, given the evidence, I think even I’d convict me of neglect.
Can’t wait to see what Tracey makes of it when she gets home, but please write. I suspect I’ll be going away for a very long time.
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“Raising a family on little more than laughs”