Okay, so everyone knows by now that I'm not exceptionally talented on the parenting front.
I adore my kids like nothing else. But I'm not a natural at the whole parenting gig.
That is my disclaimer of sorts, so you don't judge me on the following....
La la la, I can't hear you...
Over the past few months I've fashioned a parental escape of sorts.
I've stocked it with books, magazines, chocolate, and even wine. I shit you not. There's even a bottle of wine in my secret stash.
Oh okay, so it's really a cask of wine. And a sippee cup. Because #1 Hubby would be onto me in a heartbeat if he found a wine glass up there. Before you judge, I'm giving myself 'class' points for being a lady and using a cup of any sort, in light of the easy to use nozzle on a cask that would make it totally viable to lay back and suck directly from the cask. Or, you know, so I imagine.
Every night I seek solace in my special place while #1 Hubby is downstairs wrangling the twins in that hellish hour between dinner time and bed time, and Miss5 is in her bedroom drawing over everything but the appropriate colouring books and paper.
I shut the bedroom door upstairs and then put a towel at the bottom. To block out the chaos downstairs, and also because there's no locks on the bedroom doors and I need a few seconds to hide the chocolate if anyone tries to come in. If anyone does come in and find the towel on the floor, I simply say it was hanging on the door and it fell down.
Yeah I know, I’ve put way too much thought into it.
Anyway, then I sit back and enjoy my special place.
I read, I watch TV, I totally block out every other person existing under the same roof.
Until #1 Hubby gets the phone intercom going.
So, while he is kindly affording me that hour of peace, here’s what I deal with by means of the phone intercom :
- Where’s the milk?
Mstr2 is lactose intolerant, so has his own special milk. Which is conveniently
located right next to the regular milk.
- Where’s the wipes/nappies/nappy bags?
They are sneaky inanimate objects that like to hide from #1 Hubby and his
“bloke’s look” method of searching for them. Every night.
- What can I give them to eat to shut them up?
Food. Food would be my first choice. But if you can’t find any of that, try playdoh.
Same-same.
- Where’s the TV remote?
Hang on, I’ll just whip out my GPS and…wait a minute…whaddya know, it’s right here
in this very house. Somewhere downstairs where you are right at this very
moment in time.
Unless of course it’s one of those times I’ve taken the remote just to give him the shits and stop him from maxing out the volume to drown out the twins’ noise, and thereby disrupting my hour of peace as the sound of football permeates the entire house.
