Bed protected!
By · CommentsThis is not a paid or sponsored review / post, although I was sent the product in question at no cost to me, in order review it.
We – by which I mean the Grumpy One, yelling at me at random intervals to come and assist him whilst I was in the middle of something terribly important – completely stripped the bed the other day, vacuumed the mattress (he does like to vacuum things) and flipped it, hung various bits out on the line to air and remade the whole thing.
Starting with a Quilted Mattress Pad from Protect-A-Bed.
Now, they do claim to aid you in having a better night’s sleep. They have, unfortunately, not yet mastered the art of ensuring the toddler sleeps through, and the seven year old doesn’t wake up at some stupid pre-7am hour all chirpy and wanting a cuddle / to put his cold feet all over you. They also haven’t worked out how to prevent the loud snoring from next to you.
Hmmm, unless the suggestion regarding a pillow over the face to stop snoring permanently is just hard to find on their site ….
They do say that it will helpw ith a health, anti-allergy sleep, however, with all kinds of things like “dust mite barrier and allergy protection”, “cool and comfortable to sleep on” and those sorts of things.
It is also machine washable and tumble dry-able, easy to put on and off (gotta love a fitted sheet!). And it is comfortable.
And protect the bed? YES! It does. Well the mattress anyway, as we found out only a few nights ago, after a Toddler Vomit Episode. He started in the hallway, down the stairs, then had a go at his own cot sheets, promptly feel asleep on our bed whilst I tended to his, then vomited all over our bed – artfully missing the spare sheet and towel I had spread over what I thought was “all over our bed” but wasn’t.
Quickly removed said spewed on sheet, replaced towel, blinked and he’d up-chucked again on the … you guessed it!; Quilted mattress protector!
So I let him keep going on that till he’d had quite enough.
Mattress protected! Hurrah!
Washed, dried, replaced.
I have also discovered it is really good for protecting the mattress when:
- toddler feels a naked, post-bath dance on our bed is all the go
- when the school kids “put their bags away” by throwing it at the nearest thing (their bed or ours) where it lands upside down and the lid of their water bottle is not screwed on right
- when you’re sitting up in bed, writing product reviews on your laptop, with a glass of wine in one hand, and school-aged kids decide they need a cuddle, and are completely incapable of climbing into bed with you without bouncing and spilling your wine!
I also have one of these to give away!
Tell me, what does your bed need protecting from and you shall be in the running to get some protection! For your bed, anyway 
The lesser of two evils
By · CommentsUnsure as to whether Chippie should go to day care or not, given his achievements of last night, the decision was taken out of my hands when his carer rang to say she was unwell.
Of course, he was in fine form and back to “normal”. Somedays, I prefer the vomit with the subdued kid that sits happily on your lap and doesn’t smack you in the head with a train, or scream at you for the food you aren’t making, than they well one who does this and more.
Pick up kids, including addition, from school and head off to swimming. The last few times I’ve done this I’ve had two kids, a notebook, my phone and no need to squish myself into bathers.
Additional kid a good swimmer, but only 5, and Chippie could go either way; he may be happy sitting and watching, or running laps around the pool, or he may want to go in.
I had a choice to make; neither option terribly appealing. My blazing headache I’d carried all day wasn’t helping either. It was get in the pool with two kids, or sit on the side, watching three in the pool, and potentially preventing the fourth from ending up in there as well.
Much mumbling as I tried to locate bathers at the bottom of swimming bag, now stuffed full of school clothes and what appeared to be 13 bucket’s worth of sand.
With the possible exception of two children screaming about bums and dicks in the confines of the accoustic-enhancing change rooms causing my hurty head to feel as though it may explode any moment, even the getting changed after swimming wasn’t as bad as I thought.
Usually, I get most bored standing around and listening to bum and penis discussion at high volumes that I do much yelling. Tonight, I only did a little bit of yelling.
Dropped extra child off at home, having mild panic on way as Chippie very quiet and had thought that had potentially left him at the pool. Surely will be able to check in lost property next week, if I don’t get time to go back between now and then to check.
Arrive home, prepare dinner and then have to decide whether to have a second glass of wine or two Mercyndol … or both …
Early bed time. Convince kids they can hop into bed with me, my laptop and my writing jarmies on. This way, I have valid grounds for them to be quiet.
Can I have a wine with that
By · CommentsA kid free day, culminating in a Kid Invasion whereby I was doing my Fellow Mummy And I Empathise thing and helping out a fellow mum who is currently very pregnant and unable to walk due to some pelvic thing going on.
Bloody babies.
Her current only child is most obsessed with Godzilla, therefore, it felt like a sensible thing to do; offer to help her out.
We had him Monday night as well, where he was “beat up” by Chippie, the not quite two year old, and last night, where I had managed to stall the inevitable Wii game playing by racing home from a friend’s house so that I may walk to school. This meant we had to walk home, stalling the At Home time by approximatley 45 minutes, as I also did the “oh, ok, fine them, have a play. But only five minutes, ok?” and leaving 25 minutes later.
Followed up with “oh, no, we don’t play Wii on school nights”.
I relented tonight, after walking home via the childcare centre to collect Chippie.
Monkey Boy enforced his recently (as of seven minutes earlier) acquired aversion to the Wii games being taken off the shelf and being looked at, had a raving tantrum about it just as I commenced the dinner preparation process.
Pots on the flames, Chippie chooses that moment to projective vomit down the stairs. On cleaning it up, comforting him and ensuring nothing burnt, I discovered a car wheel amongst the deluge and took my mind off the situation by trying to work out whether he’d actually swallowed it and that’s what caused the up-chuck, or whether it was dropped by the rampaging children who appear oblivious to such mess once the novelty of the “Euwww” has worn off.
Dinner consumed, Monkey Boy has a tanrum over something else our guest has done, or not done, guest is collected, two youngest in the bath whilst Monkey Boy decides the entire world is against him, so I remove him from the site of entire world – ie me – and locate wine.
Chippie put to bed as Monkey Boy and I sit and have a chat about acceptable behavious, Chippie chooses this moment to vomit again. Into my bed where a very sad and remorseful Monkey Boy was residing, as I set about stripping cot and locating clean pyjamas for him.
Did consider placing him in bath until vomitting had stopped, but as he’d gone back to sleep, I kinda figured our bed would suffice.
Regretted decision moments alter as he turned his head, in his sleep, and threw up on the sheet. Not the sheet from his cot that I’d placed under his head so as to prevent this exact situation, but the newly added sheet on our bed.
It had been there two days.
This caused him to wake. And scream. And scream louder as I tried to undress him and remove sheet and put a towel somewhere in order to catch any further vomit. It seemed to have subsided.
Until he had flappy tanty, displaced towel and vomited over the now exposed woolen underlay, the bed head, all remaining bit of clothing he was still wearing, my right arm and right boob. The right boob bit caused Cleavage Runnage.
Tantrum over vomit covering sock.
(Him, not me)
Total strip of everything.
Grumpy arrived home.
*sigh*
He asks the most sensible questions at the most appropriate times; here we are, me covered in and smelling like vomit, the bed half pulled apart, Chippie naked, smelling of vomit and wiping bits of the socks I’d just removed from his feet and transferring it to his hair.
“Whatcha doing?”
Isn’t it amazinghow much a certain look can convey?
The Gymnastics Competiton (again)
By · CommentsMonkey Boy’s gymnastics competition this afternoon, whereby I must leave at same time as Grumpy Pants heads off to work, thus highlighting the fact that I, yet again, get to do this on my own with three kids.
As the 23 alarms – so as to ensure that I have not been so traumatised by concept of sititng in freezing factory-like setting to watch hard to see, male pre-teens performing mediocre gymstics routines that I have forgotten I have this too look forward to – go off, reminding me I must leave in 15 minutes, I race around packing nappy bags and snack bags, a plethora of paraphernalia to entertain 7 year old and nearly 2 year old, yell at Grumpy demanding some cash for entry into competition (and possibly purchase of coffee and sausage sizzle fare), dress various children in suitably appropriate attire, locate shoes, grab bags and stuff various children into various seating arrangements in cars.
Also wonder, at this point, why it didn’t occur to me earlier to organise somewhere else … anywhere else … for Godzilla to spend the next sevaral hours. Put it down to channeling all energy into not having anxiety attack over thought of what afternoon is about to entail.
Several kilometres away from this month’s competition venue, the car starts dinging at me. Am fairly sure all doors are closed and seatbelts are on, as we have just driven what feels like the width of two states to get this far.
It is the petrol thingy, informing me I have 80km to go before I run out of petrol. It also reminds me that my purse is … I’m actually not really sure. I just know it is not with me. Last place I recall having it is at the supermarket. Am fairly sure it came home with me. As fairly sure as I can be about anything at this point in time.
Lug small child, two bags and a camera into venue, ushering two other children into the venue, put on over-stressed face and advise 12 year old a the door I am stressed as cannot find purse. She is most obliging.
Or, quite possibly, terrified of this crazed and stressed woman holding a toddler.
Secure seats in a position that ensured escapage should it be required, yet also out of the way and where Chippie was least able to distract, annoy or throw anything at anyone.
Which was pointless, really, as he climbed off the chair, the seat flung up and smacked him in the head, and he had massive tantrum that distracted and annoyed everyone. Tantrum was a result of seat not doing what he wanted, not the fact it had hit him in head. Thus, he commenced throwage of things, kicking off with Monkey Boy’s recently removed socks and sand-filled shoes.
(Incidentally and totally off topic, he informed me the school had just purchased additional sand for the sandpit. Had I known this was necessary, I would happily have sold them their sand, now adorning most surfaces in my living room, back to them. I would even have returned it for free.)
Outside we went, where he smacked me in head for picking him up, the grabbed my pants and pulled hard whilst kicking me in the shin for putting him down. I went back indoors and left him to deal with concerned passers-by to check on his wellbeing, resulting in some stop-screaming, followed immediatley by louder screaming.
Sent a text to a friend for some encouragement and empathy.
She informed me she had a pimple on her bum.
Which reminded me that I had no funds for desperately needed coffee, even if the chances of it being the dodgy, instant sort were excessively high.
Replied via SMS requesting she desist from teasing me about how fabulous her life was and offered to swap. Actually, a pimple on my bum right now might distract me enough from wanting to leap to my death from the high bar and remind me I still have a bum. The sub-zero temperature of the venue had rendered me numb from the waist down. Spent remainder of time wishing for numbness from waist up.
Follow up text from friend reminding me that when competition over it would be Wine O’Clock.
Appreciated sentiments, however, by time competition over it would be well past Wine O’Clock and couldn’t help but feel just a little resentful of waste of good wine drinking time.
Competiton over, Monkey Boy improved significantly since previous competition, Chippie does big poo and requires nappy change, Godzilla shuts car door on Chippie’s head whilst I’m getting organised to deal with his bum, Monkey Boy takes Godzilla’s DS causing Leg Being Amputated With Blunt Spoon Screamage and I contemplate locking car doors and leaving without them.
Except, they are on inside of car.
Commence drive home where car pings at me again, advising I now have 70km to go before car runs out of petrol.
I advise car that if it and everyone else in it doesn’t shut up very soon, I have about .23 seconds before I run out of tolerance.
There goes my social life
By · CommentsReceived some goodies in the post today; a gorgeous range of clothing from Verily and my saute pan from Chef’s Toolbox, which I ordered only days ago and wasn’t expecting till sometime next week before I had a tantrum and it arrive 6-8 weeks later.
That was my moment of excitement for the entire day. I stupidly decided I would utilise the new saute pan and wrote a list of ingredients I would need to prepare some stove top pizzas for dinner, given it was Friday night, I usually do home made pizzas on a Friday night and have zero to no imagination to think of anything else to cook, despite, or because of, my insatiable desire to watch Masterchef.
(It’s like a train wreck – you know it’s bad, but you just gotta look!)
I am also stuck with that horrible dilemma of stuffing in as much work as possible whilst I am childless and taking them shopping, or going shopping on the way to school pickup.
*sigh* I hate the hard decisions.
As it was, I got caught up on a very important phone call and, thus, avoided the walk-to-school-then-supermarket scenario.
Monkey Boy demanded we drop him and brother at home before heading to supermarket, which, tempting as it was, his most recent treatment of said brother was beyond obnoxious and I wanted the house standing when I arrived home. And, going home was out of the way. Clearly, my thought processes at this time were not sufficient, nor to his liking, as he retreived my phone, rang his father (if mummy says ‘no’, ring daddy) and asked if he could go home.
Grumpy Pants, as I had explained to him several times already, was at work. Grumpy confirmed this by not answering his phone. Monkey Boy left pointed message.
Off the supermarket we head, where, just as I park and put the handbrake on, my phone goes off, Monkey Boy answers and says “Cool! We just parked, but I’ll get mum to take us home!”
Um, I don’t think so.
In we go, retrieve one of those small trolleys, like a half trolley (not the kids ones) put my $1 in to release it from it’s bindinsgs, Monkey Boy decides Chippie wants to sit in it, picks him up, rolls him in, and, subsequently, Chippie smacks his face on side of trolley. Chippie then screams. Not, however, due to face-smackage, but because he doesn’t want to be in (hmmm, I’m sure I said that just before he was dumped in), Monkey Boy stands on front of trolley and is demanded to get off, Chippie throws himself at me as I’m trying to push overladen with 9year old trolley one handed and runs off.
Request Monkey Boy and/or Godzilla go and retrieve Chippie, which they both do by yelling “CHIPPIE!” as loud as boy-ily possible. Which, for those of you who have boys, will know is something akin to the breaking of the speed of sound. This causes everyone in the first 33 isles to turn in our direction and glare at me! OMG! They were judging me!
Godzilla helps himself to handfuls of various foods available for testing – well, they did say “would you like to try”. “Try” is a relative term. For some “try” or “taste” is dipping your finger in, or taking 1/4 of a teaspoonful. For a 7 year old boy, it is grabbing every avaialble cracker with cheese on it that happens to be on the presentation plate at the time, handing one to your baby brother and screeaching loudly at your older brother when he asks politely for a “try”.
He then embarks on a mission to locate the product he has just tested. This mission is significantly different from mine, which entails getting the few ingredients we need for this evening’s meal and getting the hell out without any more yelling, crying, swearing or robbing the liquor shop of their entire vodka stocks in some crazed, mother-of-three-boys-at-supermarket-need-vodka manner.
Monkey Boy requests we go home via the video store, whereby he is informed “Oh, of course. Your behaviour thus far has been just impeccable and I can think of nothing better to do with you than treat you to your selection of videos,” and causing a woman, also kid laden, to snigger into her handbag.
Chippie feels it is his duty to push the trolley (into any other customer within 3 isles range) without help. Getting the spinach prooves to be highly disasterous, yet doable.
Mission accomplished, save the 17 items I’m fairly convinced are not on my list (of five items) plus milk and that I did not place in the trolley.
Loading up the car whilst Monkey Boy climbs the trolley rack thing and complete with woman, loading up the car the other side of the trolley bay, in ranting at our kids and their behaviour at said supermarket, and upping the ante on threats delivered. Nothing like some good support from other mothers. And good ideas.
She had a much younger child, a baby seemingly only months old. I felt for her, and could only do my duty for her.
“Do you have wine at home?” I ask her, ready to race down to the bottle shop on her behalf and buy up all the gin.
She assurred me she was fine in that department, checked I was ok and we set off.
Arrive home, where Grumpy Pants was waiting, beer in hand and serene look on his face.
“Pour me wine! NOW!” I greet him lovingly.
I’m so lucky to have such a loving husband. He knows me so well. At least, I think that’s what it was. It could just have easily have been for self-preservation purposes that he refused to pour me a wine, but whipped up a gin and tonic for me instead.
In the good crystal glass, with a lemon slice and ice cubes.
Sharp knives in one hand (which you don’t really need for stove top pizza, but I just don’t feel as though I’ve cooked properly unless I’ve held one) and G&T in the other, I set about coooking and contemplated this “shopping with kids” debacle.
Sure, I could do my grocery shop online, but can’t help feel I’d be losing a significant proportion of my social life if I did that.
I mean, who else can I verbally vomit all over, but the chick at the supermarket checkout! I have to talk to someone adult.
That’s not fact, either
By · CommentsMonkey Boy in trouble for suggesting a “brain looks like a bum with squiggly lines on it”.
Recommended to change ”bum” to “bottom” (by teacher).
Recommended to actually refer to facts, possibly, and merely a suggestion, pertaining to the function of, say, the hippocampus, cerebellum and/or amygdala, as derived from a reputable and preferably medical and/or scientific source (by me).
Upon reflection, advised to change “bottom” to “peach” (by teacher).
Suggest teacher has no imagination, no concept of the workings of the minds of 7 to 9 year old boys, and no real “facts” about the brain.
Humph.
That pretty much sums it up …
By · CommentsFor some reason, which I’m putting down to the excessive sleeping in of children, quite possibly due to the fact that during the school holidays I altered the time on the coffee machine so it would go “off” at 7.23am and not 6.23am as it had been, we’re having less tiime to get organised in the mornings and leaving slightly later and more rushed than usual.
This morning was no different; up later, coffee poured, mental notes made to self re changing time on coffee machine, much mentioning of “no time to lie in bed and read, get up NOW!” and usual morning blabberings about dishwashers and breakfast and clean undies and shoes under coffee tables.
Our always forgotten weekly ritual of “But I have Show And Tell” today occurred at it’s usual time. Like clockwork is it. Right after that moment where I yell “getyourbagandbookbagandyourshoesonandgetajacketonit’scoldwhydoIhavetotellyoueveryomorning?!” and the jacket is half on and I’m halfway out the door.
And I thought we had Show and Tell on Tuesdays. Or is it Wednesdays? Monday?
My discussions with the teachers at PT interviews on Tuesday reminded me of a) their suggestion I help Godzilla remember things, perhaps with the use of checklists or notes (to him or myself, I’m not sure) and b) that we had a discussion about Sydney Harbour Bridge Bridge Climb. Being a recent excursion, the photos I had of the experience were located on or near the top of the Dumped On Desk pile, thus relatively easy, if not precarious, to locate, grab and shove at him with a “Here, show this!”
Dropped kids off, did work, went to meeting, picked kids up, spoke to teacher.
“So, what did you go to China and Sydney for? Was it with Coke?”
She had received the Godzilla reply to “How come your Mum is doing this stuff with Coke?”
“Aw. Cos she sits at her computer all day and does stuff and they like her.”
Hmm. Fair call, too, I would think. I do sit at my computer a lot. And do stuff. And things.
Head home while Grumpy takes kids swimming, have much discussion pertianing to completion of homework/project regarding brains. Locate anatomy text book I used for uni some years ago, as it contained much information about brains. Relented after snarky comments from 9 year old and located much more age appropriate book on brains. Godzilla then retreived his age appropriate book and offered to help.
“Mum. A brain looks like a bum with squiggly lines on it,” he informed me.
Monkey Boy immediately set about his project, which I discovered was quoting his 7 year old brother, verbatim.
“Um. Not sure you should write that,” I highly recommend to him.
“But it’s a fact! I does look like a bum with squiggly lines on it.”
“Yes, it does,” I reply. “However, I’m not entirely sure it’s “fact” because your brother said it.”
“It is a FACT! He said it and it’s a fact! Besides, I know some people with brains like that!”
Bugger. I was gonna use that very line in a blog post and now he’s beat me to it. All because I was helping him with his homework and not sitting at the computer doing stuff.
And things.
On that note, I left him to complete his homework himself. Clearly my years of study and knowledge are nowhere near that of his younger brothers.
“Bum!” replied Chippie.
These are a few of my favourite things …
By · CommentsLeft in solitude for most of the day, I almost forgot to do the school pickup.
Amazing how 15 minutes can vanish just like that. Also amazing, is how Murphy’s Law can work it’s way into your day, and steal those 15 minutes just at that moment when you have worked out that issue that’s been bugging you all day [insert lightbulb moment] and you have to go pick up kids just at that moment the solution is clear and tangible.
I Brisk Walked (part of my exercise regime), got the blood flowing, and the head cleared, allowing me to think, contemplate stuff and assess my day. It’s been a good one. Positive from start to finish. Happy and smiling for the most part. Nothing seemed to big.
These are my favourite days. Well, except for the fact I’m not on a tropical island, lying beside a crystal clear beach and having a buff, semi-naked man bring me cocktails at regular intervals. But, it’s doable.
And with this happiness and positivity in my head, I picked the kids up, and contemplated a few of my other favourite things. As they happened.
These are a few of my favourite things:
- Spending half an hour trying to locate middle child, then spending 20 minutes yelling at him to move, and getting just far enough away from the school gate in the direction of home and him saying “I need to go toilet. I’m busting”
- Having that “Why wouldn’t you go to the toilet instead of spending that last 20 minutes on the playground and me yelling at you to hurry up” conversation
- Picking the toddler up from childcare and having him scream the whole way home and me wanting to take him back and leave him there for the next 18 years
- The eldest child crooning to middle child, about smelliness of his bum
- That competition where one child does his best to annoy the other, and second child overreacts, then ups the ante in the annoying stakes. Annoying behaviour increases as same rate as overreaction to being annoyed
- The toddler headbutting me in the vagina while I’m trying to cook dinner
- The toddler screaming at me for a Weet Bix
- Taking my slipper off to scratch my foot and it being abducted by toddler and I it doesn’t matter where I walk, I stand on crumbly Weet Bix bits and they stick to my foot
- The toddler driving a train, repeatedly and wheels first, into my head
Really, however, I think my favouritist thing on days like this is when I open the fridge and there is actually wine in there!
Cheers!
That’s so cheesey … and very bad
By · CommentsA fairly uneventful day, with a friend popping over and much work done on our businesses.
It required much brain-thinking and functioning and plotting and planning and getting Chippie to sleep just as he has reached a “phase” where he prefers not to. Actually, truthfully, he’s never really been one for much sleep. This is just a new “thing” he’s trying on in relation to his afternoon sleep, just when I thought we had it all sorted that he’d happily go down just after an early lunch and sleep for hours.
How stupid am I?
Then off to pick up kids, do Parent-Teacher interviews, which I actually remembered this time, totally stressed out after one and chilled after the other, remembered to pick up additional Small Child that we were caring for after school today and head home.
Dinner on, Small Child collected early, and therefore no need to feed him as well. A good thing, really, as I recall the days when 500g of minced meet and a 500g packet of pasta (toss in a few additional ingredients, cook it up, voila, pasta bolognaise for something different) would happily feed all of us with a bit left over. Now, it feeds my two eldest sons and the rest of us have to scavenge the bits that fall out of their mouths as they’re shovelling it in.
*sigh*
Having had their 23 serves each, Chippie and I head off for a bath while they helped themselves to their 27th serve each, and I relax.
Thank goodness that uneventful, yet mentally draining day is over.
Despite my bath already being interrupted what with it consisting of a toddler, there was plenty of room for further interruption.
“MUM,” yells Monkey Boy after I hear a muffled thump. “There’s paremsan cheese in your laptop!”
Well, of course there is. Where else would it be. There was definitely no more room to put in on top of their pasta blognaise, which, technically was a bowl of parmesan cheese with a garnish of pasta bolognaise.
“I slipped on Chippie’s fork , which was on the floor. And I dropped the container.”
(Which, I might add, previously held approximately 3 litres of very finely grated paremesan cheese)
I had visions of cheese all over the floor, which could relatively easily and quickly be dealt with my letting my children loose with a spoon each and instructions to “clean it up”.
But how did it get in my lap top?
I was becoming more intrigued as Monkey Boy persisted with his pathological need to inform me as to the goings on of the parmesan cheese every 23 seconds; “It’s in the dictionary, like inside the pages!” and “I got a bit on your diary!” and “There’s some inside my communications book for school!”
Etc.
“Yes, thank you, I don’t need a running commentary. Just clean it up!” and I hopped out of my bath to inspect the damage.
We have a large table. It had a lot of stuff on it a the time. All that largeness and lot of stuff was now covered, covered in parmesan cheese. It was not all over the floor. It was all over lots of things I really didn’t want it to be over.
Yes, there was a “bit” on my diary (looks like cheese is the order for the day)
We set about cleaning the mess up. Monkey Boy felt the dustbuster would be the best tool for the job. I still felt spoons and children would be more efficient and practical. Some fifteen minutes later, we had the mess cleaned up, I had a glass of wine in my hand and the toddler was walking around, clean and wearing a nappy and one sock.
Is today over yet?
Argh! No.
“Quick, everyone get dressed! We have guitar lessons!”
This was immediately followed by some “No-urghs!” and further explanation as to why Chippie and Godzilla could not stay home with Daddy like they usually do. Obviously, with everything going on, they completely overlooked the complete absence and total lack of Daddy. Out we go, into the cold, rainy night, Monkey Boy having his lesson whilst Chippie sang and kicked the door and drove trains repeatedly into my left eyeball, and we walked home agian and had hot chocolates.
I opened my lap top to do a small amount of work to finish they day, shook the remaining parmesan cheese out of it and wondered if there was a button somewhere that would use the still remaining parmesan to whip me up a few parmesan crisps to go with my planning …
How To Build Lego
By · CommentsThis afternoon, I had the distinct privilege of spending quality time with Eldest Son, Monkey Boy.
Said quality time consisted of building a Lego Star Wars Big Fucker of the Thing with One Bazillion Pieces.
It was a Galacticon Battlezoid or a Republic Attack Shuttle or something. I think I made the first one up. Either way, I don’t care what it was called, and it had a bazillion pieces.
Here is how to build one:
- Explain to Eldest Child you will be with him when you have finished writing your article
- Explain to Eldest Child he needs to leave you alone, or article will take longer to write
- Explain to Eldest Child you will be with him “in a minute”
- Explain to Eldest Child you will be with him “In. A. Minute!”
- Mutter ”for fuck’s sake” under breath
- Request instructions to commence construction of big fucker Lego thing
- Sit in spot as directed and await specific instructions from child
- Demand own set of instructions
- Explain to Eldest Child (who is SO like his father it’s not funny) that, no, working on one piece together is probably not a good idea. It is Lego, after all. Perhaps best to have a small project each.
- Grab own set of instructions and contemplate array of your good china spread around living room floor, each containing the contents of the individual bags of Lego bits
Some other things you should know:
1. The separation of pieces into individual bags leads you to believe that each bag contains all the pieces you need, and only the pieces you need for a particular component of the Battle Attack Shuttle Droid Thing. As the entire spaceship is actually made up of various smaller projects, this would make sense. This is to lull you into a false sense of security. Not only does each bag not contain all the bits you need for constructing one part of the shuttle, it also contains pieces required for all other parts of the shuttle.
2. This particular creation contains pieces that are grey in colour. Fourteen different shades of grey, to be precise. The instruction booklet denotes the varying shades of grey when informing you of which pieces to use. All the shades of grey displayed in the book are in between those of the pieces in front of you, therefore, your black pieces actually look a very dark grey in the book. It is nigh on impossible to determine which dark greay bit you are supposed to be using for the left, rear undercarriage of the galactitron. Is the dark grey, the very dark grey, the very very dark grey or the black?
3. At one point, your Eldest Child will be in a state, due to the substantial overlooking of including dark grey pieces in the set, and wondering why there are so many black pieces left.
4. At around this point, you will surreptitiously hide your project under the nearest cushion so he is unable to see you have used all the dark grey bits when you should have used black.
5. Shortly afterwards, you will be required to completely dismantle the shuttle-bit you did 3 projects ago, to retrieve the black bit you did use that should have been red. This piece will be located in a seemingly easily accessible spot, yet require complete dismantling anway.
6. Halfway through, the toddler will awake from his afternoon nap and want to help.
7. It is extremely difficult to construct Lego-type constructions when toddler and husband are throwing balls at you “for fun”.
8. Locating teensy Lego pieces from under our couches is neither fun nor remotely hygienic.
9. Despite being the one to create 9 out of the 10 possible mini-creations that make up the one, large creation, you are in no way entitled to have any part in putting any of the mini-constructions together to create large one, nor should you ask, beg or plead to look at finished creation upon it’s completion. Under no circumstances may you touch any pieces once you have handed them over and signed them off as done.
10.Exception: You are under complete obligation to fix the entire thing when it is left on coffee table at toddler height and played with, thrown and smashed into the back of someone’s head.
NB Lego inscructions are similar to those of Ikea instructions, and, in similar fashion, come devoid of contact details for divorce lawyers and/or clinical psychologists who specialise in trauma.
