Sign of the Times

I love signs.

Aside from the hours of enjoyment one can get from reading signposts or those little inserts one gets from non-english speaking countries (go on, when you’ve got some time to kill, try Googling “Engrish”) … I just love wordplay on such a small scale. (What’s that saying, ‘Small thing amuse small minds’?) Plus it gives me something to laugh about sometimes when I really need it.

Take our house, for instance.

As you approach the front door you’re greeted with “Beware of the Kids” (a funky little number I found on eBay), and never a truer word has been written, my friends.

One cannot enter our abode without tripping over the toys and arts and crafts and shoes and sports gear strategically placed in the most inconvenient locations.

I swear our front entry (a converted garage) is like the ‘Tardis’ - the amount of child-oriented items it contains seems to grow with each day that passes, and the mind boggles as to where it all came from, or indeed, where it all goes.

Unfortunately, it is encroaching on the entire interior, as the little darlings forget to put things back from whence they came. Obviously I need to find a sign that says “If it comes out to play, please put it away” that’s actually written in a language 5 and 7 year olds can comprehend.

Moving into the household (and avoiding the minefield of childhood items along the way), there’s quite a nice collection of sayings stuck to the fridge in amongst the family photo’s and children’s art work- two of my favourites are “Housekeeping is an exact science- I’m into art.” and “I’m not going to vacuum until they make one I can ride on!” Hear, hear!

Unfortunately, I have discovered if I don’t do it, it doesn’t get done, and I’m yet to figure out a way around that one*.

In fact the first sign to greet me each day is plastered on the laundry door directly across the hall from our bedroom; it reads “Please Dear Lord, make the laundry go away”. I’m still waiting for the Almighty to deliver on that one, but still it stays, offering up a not-so-silent prayer to put an end to washing days. (See above*.)

That goes with another saying of which I’m quite fond: “Cleaning the house while the kids are still growing is like shoveling the path while the snow is still snowing.” You’ve got to pick your battles. And I surrendered a long time ago.

So I resign myself to simply overseeing the childhood warfare that takes place on a daily basis, helped along with a cuppa or two.

Needless to say my coffee cup collection has a wealth of knowledge printed thereon to provide inspiration, motivation, or mere contemplation as I up my caffeine intake trying to stay awake after another near-sleepless night at the homestead- mind you I have to carefully guard the mug that says “I have children and a sense of humour- what’s your Super Power?”, as too many other mothers can also relate, it seems.

And there’s one sign here that never ceases to amuse one mum in particular whenever she risks life and limb and pays a visit to our humble home. It’s a little pink one that declares: “My Mother was right about everything!”

Every single time my mother reads that one, she turns to me with a chuckle and says “I am so glad you had kids of your own darling.”

Yep, so am I… if nothing else it keeps the signwriters in business.

Jx
©2009