It’s day five of the school holidays. The three year old’s vocab has now expanded to making such statements as “you bitch” when his brothers do something he doensn’t like. And the odd “shit”. I mean verbally, not bumly. Although that as well. It’s been raining for two days. Cabin fever setting in.
Mount PileOfWashing has erupted. It bred first, leaving massive piles of itself in various rooms of the house. It has now, quite literally erupted, spewing more and more filthy, smelly, pissy items of clothing, bed sheets, towels and rice all over the house. There is little to no floor space in any of the rooms. I located the three year old, after he’d been missing for some hours and I thought he’d just gone to sleep, under a pile of fetid underpants and pyjamas.
The trickling PissNShit Creek has broken it’s banks and is now a raging torrent, leaving puddles of itself in hallways, beds and