The Hand That Robs The Cradle

The phone clearly intends being a problem for us this week. And by us, I mean Tracey.

“Where’s the phone?” I asked my wife soon after the arriving home. I was exhausted and in need of beer. Not only had I been at the bank all day but I spent a good few hours helping pack up a shop who was about to be inundated with water in our latest round of floods. Bankers aren’t used to manual labour. It makes us thirsty.

Since arriving home I’d spent a couple of minutes in a sort of loop – staring at the empty phone cradle, checking the kitchen benches, walking through the lounge and bedrooms, where I noticed Miss3 was asleep in our bed, and then back to the cradle.

I even checked in the fridge, although to be fair Tracey was pregnant when she did that. All four times.

“Ah, yes,” Tracey called from her perch in front of her new work computer (it is a lovely machine). “You see, I was on the mobile when the home line rang,” explained Tracey. She thought she’d just call whoever it was back but Miss3 took the opportunity to answer it. Listening with one ear tied behind her back she worked out from the one sided conversation it was Nanny. “I heard her explain I couldn’t come to the phone and I thought she’d hung up. Only she hadn’t. Instead she sat on the lounge watching telly and every now and then she’d pick up the phone and laugh into it.”

“What did your Mum say?”

“Apparently lots of stuff like ‘Get your Mum!’ ‘Are you there?’ ‘Hang up now, dear!’ and the like. But our daughter wasn’t listening. Just loud bursts of laughter and then silence.”

“Well, why didn’t you take the phone off her?” I asked.

“Gee, where were you when I needed you?” said Tracey. She was giving me the look which said she’s not that stupid, but I am for asking the dumb question. I know that look well. It’s how I remind myself she’s in charge around here. “I was in the other room. I only found out what she was doing when Poppy showed up and told me.”

“Why would your dad come over?”

“Because Mum was at work. She called Dad because she was worried I couldn’t come to the phone because maybe I’d hurt myself.” I’ll be clocking this one up as another good reason to live where you’ve got the support of good family.

But this was an exhausting conversation. Especially pre-beer. I really just wanted to make my call and open the fridge.

I repeated my original question. “So where’s the phone?”

“In the only spot I could think of she won’t have anything to do with during the day,” grinned Tracey.

It was in Miss3’s bed, under her pillow.

Mummy’s are so smarts.

Call my love

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’



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