Incy Wincy

I wish my bladder would respect my bedtime.

Not long ago- and not for the first time- there I was, middle of winter in the middle of the night, facing a big and hairy scary thing when I should have been snug as a bug in bed.

I was under the false apprehension that creepy crawlies had gone into hibernation for the wintertime.  And since it had been a mighty cold winter, I, like other ophidiophobes (and arachnophobes) was feeling relatively confident that we wouldn't be crossing paths anytime soon.

My mistake.

On a regular trip to the wheelie bin with some household waste I encountered an eerie little 8 legged critter residing right under the lid I lifted. And despite the chill in the air, and the aforementioned myth that the larger species of snakes and spiders go to sleep in the winter, 

I can assure you, Incy Wincy it wasn't!

I don't know who was more startled- or indeed who moved faster- Mr Hairylegs or me. Might've been a dead heat, actually. Moving in opposite directions, of course.

So you can appreciate my reaction on a night-time trip to the toilet not long afterwards.

I don't know about you but when nature calls in the night, I try not to wake anyone else. I crawl out of bed, tiptoe around to the ensuite bathroom, and ever so quietly slide the door open and shut, lift the lid and go about my business. I even installed a phosphorescent toilet seat so I can be guided by the glow to where I need to go. Saves turning on the light. Saves a bit of my power bill.

There is a downside to this, as I have previously discovered.

My Beloved, on the other hand, has no such qualms. Throws the covers off, rolls out of bed, slams open the sliding door, slams it shut again, flings up the toilet seat, and goes about his business. Then slams everything shut again and bounces back into bed; almost bouncing me out the other side (note to self: we REALLY need a new mattress).

After recent events I won't be quite so diligent.

Usual story, I am rudely awakened from unconscious bliss by my bladder, but being chilly I chuck on my slippers before hitting the tiles. I head into the bathroom when I spy out of the corner of my still half-asleep eyes, a dark fuzzy shape on the floor by the bowl. So, slipper in hand, I most valiantly and enthusiastically kill....my hair elastic.

Yep I well and truly whacked the crap out of a hair band that had in fact fallen out of my hair en route to the loo in the dark. But I am proud to report not a single squeak came from my mouth during the entire episode (thankfully, none of my other body parts betrayed themselves either).

Not that it matters, as my Beloved has been known to sleep through thunderstorms, phone calls, fire alarms, one time he even slept soundly as a neighbour banged on the window right above his head!  And how many times did he wake refreshed in the morning after I'd been up all night with a crying baby. Must be part of the Y chromosome, as it's a skill set most fathers seem to possess (leaving most mothers saying: "Why?!")

It's just as well I am not one of those helpless females who need their white knight to ride to her rescue when it comes to creepy crawlies. Or anything that goes bump in the night, for that matter. Many a time I have ventured forth from the bedroom to investigate a mysterious sound without  a man to hide behind. In fact my man is behind in bed, no doubt being all brave and manly in dreamland!

Yes, yes, I know the number one rule of horror films: don't go out there alone. But sometimes you don't have the choice (and happy to say most times, there isn't any bogeyman waiting in the wings).

Spiders, though, that's another story.

I've often encountered the little critters on their night-time hunting, while I do the protector thing and check on my children.  I even keep a can of spray handy for times I need to defend life and limb as quietly as possible (after all, this is Australia, home to some of the world's most poisonous species).

But I've never had to kill a hair band before.

Chance are, I never will again.

Jx

©2012

Mirror Mirror

Our family bathroom has a mirror that measures roughly 5 feet along and 3 feet high.

It’s a beauty.

All I can say is that the previous owner/builder of the property must have had slight narcissistic tendencies, but I’m not going to complain; not when there’s enough space to stand two children and a husband side by side at the sink with enough elbow room to avoid small scale conflicts.

Most of the time.

But any time I attempt to utilize the thing myself, I swear there is toothpaste covering every square inch of it! I know- I’ve just cleaned the thing again. And no one seems to see it but me…

There are a lot of home truths I’ve learnt since bringing my babies home:

1. Boys smell*. They really do. And no amount of washing, changing, and deodorizing seems to keep it at bay for any great length of time. Must be that Y chromosome.

2. Children are under the impression that being bored is the same thing as being hungry. It doesn’t matter if they’ve just eaten you out of house and home and have just sat through the latest family friendly feature film…they are like a crevasse in living form.

3. Kids are also under the assumption that Colonel Sanders makes toilet paper, as they seem to expect a ‘magic barrel’ with a neverending supply. As a friend of mine says: there is nothing that can come out of a human bottom to require that much paper to clean it. But apparently both she and I are wrong.

And

4. One small pea-size squirt of toothpaste (as recommended by dentists everywhere) can create enough white specks to cover previously mentioned 5 x 3 foot mirror! (And have you ever noticed that it doesn’t matter what colour the toothpaste is going in, it always comes out white?)

Luckily I’ve also discovered some nifty new wipes designed specifically for mirrors and glass-fronted furniture that promise to get “rid of streaks and leave your glass and mirror surfaces sparkling”. Unfortunately, there’s no guarantee that these wonder wipes will also leave an invisible coating of something akin to Teflon™ so that next time the offspring are on dental duty any sprays will simply go away.

Of course it doesn’t help matters that on the last visit to the dentist the nurse gave the “helpful” suggestion that - in order to brush teeth correctly every time- one should give ten decent ‘flicks’ in every direction. Now, you and I both know that by definition of ‘direction’ that she meant top, bottom, and side to side, in order to ensure every little nook and cranny and wobbly tooth gets a look in. Seems my children took her literally and literally flick the toothpaste in every direction!

I kid you not, this time it was even on the fluorescent light above the mirror!

Anyways, at least the entire bathroom region is looking spick and span and shiny again, thanks to my nifty new wipes. But I bet not one of the aforementioned family members will notice.

Now all I need to do is finish scrubbing the toilet bowls which also seem to be almost permanently sporting splatter no matter how clean I try to keep them (*see point #1 above), and replace yet another toilet roll.

Before I get back into it, I’ll just leave you with one of my favourite jokes of all time, which I think you’ll agree ties in rather nicely with the topic.


Sister Mary Margaret bursts into Mother Superior’s office with the complaint that the kids have been at it again and the boys’ toilet in particular was in a shocking state:

“The little devils have been having yet another competition about who can get highest up the wall above the urinal! I had to send for the cleaner yet again, and just as we were going back to tidy up the stinky streams, more of the bedeviled little creatures were in there having another contest."

“And what did you do?“ asked Mother Superior

“I hit the roof!!”

Jx
©2011

Insect-o-cide

Insects outnumber humans by at least 100,000,000 to 1.

And I think that their bid to rule the world has begun. Right here in our home.

If it wasn’t bad enough that I recently had to stop a speeding funnel-web spider heading towards our front door, with just the tread on my car tyre... the rain and changing weather seems to have brought an onslaught of other arachnids and cockroaches into the neighbourhood.

Can I just say I am sick to death of them popping in for a cup of sugar!

I don’t know about you but I think Cockies are the worst. If it’s not bad enough that they pre-date humans by about 225 million years, they’re reportedly going to be around long after we’re gone... quite possibly the only living creature to survive a nuclear holocaust (or an avalanche of trash, if you go with the WALL•E theory).

Dirty evil little critters that they are, they have no qualms about scuttling across the kitchen when one wanders in for a glass of water in the night. And nothing says the kids have spotted one in the bathroom quite like the bloodcurdling scream they’ve both got pitch-perfect (does wonders for tinnitus in confined spaces, I can tell you).

Even my Beloved fell prey to one such killer insect last weekend while working in the backyard… he picked up some sort of shrapnel that had been laying around since the last time he was so inspired, and this rusty-coloured creature dropped straight down his shirt.

Call me cruel but the “get it off me” dance that followed was quite comedic, especially since my Beloved professes to move like an epileptic spider at the best of times. He was most definitely unamused at my mirth when he informs me that the little bugger apparently emptied its bladder on him in its fight-or-flight manouvre.

I shouldn’t have laughed. I really shouldn’t. ‘Cause, boy, didn’t it come back to haunt me.

A couple of days later, there I was in the wee small hours (literally and figuratively speaking) trying not to disturb my significant other in any significant way whilst tiptoeing to the toilet in our ensuite in the dark. I had barely assumed the position when something dropped off the ceiling directly above the commode - straight into my lap.

So startled was I that I forgot where I was and what I was doing and leapt off the lav with an involuntary shriek. The cold feeling of fear was soon almost immediately replaced by the warm trickle of something else. Yes, seems I reacted in much the same way as the bug my Beloved battled just a couple of days before.

However, recovering both my underwear and my wits at roughly the same time, I managed to flick the offending insect off and half squished it as it made good its getaway. I also managed to do so quite quietly as my Beloved slept soundly through the whole scary scenario!

But since it’s apparently true that cockroaches can live for up to 9 days without a head, I will be turning on that light and checking carefully around the porcelain before pulling down the panties, for at least another 5 days yet…

And as for the adult-incontinence thing, let’s just keep that between you, me, and the wall, mkay? We don’t need the insects knowing just how much control they have over us (or, rather, how little we have over our bladders).

Jx
©2010

Potty Time

There’s a lot of things I love about being a parent.

There are also things I’m liking not so much.

Without a doubt, the thing I would gladly never go through again: is toilet training.

I now know why some call it potty time. Because it certainly gave me a case of potty mouth a time or two (under my breath, mind you, I’m not that bad a parent).

And it’s true what they say that boys can be trickier than girls. While it took my son a good few months to get the hang of it (and let’s face it, any female who cohabits with a male of any age knows that some never really do), my daughter decided that nappies were sooooo last season, at roughly the same time as that. Two for the price of one. Bargain.

But the departure from diapers only brought about a whole new chapter- the fascination with public toilets. What is up with that?

I swear, even if the kids have gone before we left, we can never go anywhere without at least one of them desperately desiring a dunny. More often than not it’s both, oh and not necessarily at the same time either.

Normally it doesn’t worry me (I just have to get my gag reflex in check before entering the public domain): I’ve got the anti-bacterial spray for the seat, a tissue or two in hand if there’s not enough loo paper, and enough energy to assist the littlies as they go about their ablutions.

Yes every time we have to use a loo or two on our travels I am reminded yet again of my enduring preference for the bathrooms at home. Bit difficult when you’re off attending a medical conference about your child’s condition, held in Hershey Pennsylvania.

I call it The Great Toilet Tour of 2007. With good reason.

On a 15½ hour flight, my son and I managed to squeeze into the aircraft toilet no less than 14 times. And he was asleep for about 7 hours! I have never been on an international holiday before, and had no idea about what joys awaited me in that cramped and stinky little room. Nor just how cramped and just how stinky that little room would feel about 10 hours in.

*shudders*

Things didn’t get any less claustrophobic once we touched down in the US of A either. Oh no, not when there were soooo many new and exciting things about North American amenities, we just had to try them all. Automatic opening doors, interchangeable seats, infrared flush, remote action soap, water and hand dryers are just too awesome for a 5 year old. A little less awesome but equally as, shall we say interesting for mothers of same, I can assure you.

Yes we hadn’t even been Stateside for 3 hours before we were calling for maintenance of the Holiday Inn nearby LAX. Aside from that old anomaly of the water going down a different direction (it really does seem to, you know), my son was transfixed, and just a little concerned that the water level is quite a lot higher before you even begin to contribute. I have to admit to being a tad wary myself, lest I inadvertently get the bidet effect whilst parked on the potty. What isn’t supposed to happen, apparently, is for that water level to get higher still, until the bathroom floor gets an impromptu wash. A performance that was to be repeated again at a brand spanking new Church just outside Atlanta Georgia, when my son with due diligence ensuring his hiney was shiny accidentally overloaded the porcelain with paper.

Yes there I was, on my knees in the lavatories, muttering holy hell about having to clean up the mess, lest the preacher think any less of his Aussie guests.

But the best was yet to come.

The CNN Center is equipped with some of the most breathtakingly brilliant technology in the modern world. And it most certainly took my breath away. Especially when my son decided to disengage the doorlock while I was still posed kangaroo-style over the toilet bowl, moreso when amidst my shrieks for him to “Close the door!” I moved slightly out of the line of sight of the automatic flush infrared beam, and got to experience what a bidet would feel like after all. Our local tour guides said in spite of the noise levels inside the centre, they distinctly heard my squeal from where they waited outside. (I’m surprised they didn’t hear it back home in Australia, just quietly.)

So whilever I’m waiting for one or the other or both of my offspring to offload at a bathroom stall somewhere, I try to remind myself that they’ve reached a very valuable milestone by being able to do by themselves (and with the door properly locked too, I might add).

Now I get to be one of the mums nodding in sympathy whenever I witness those still in toilet-training mode.

Been there, done that, not going back.

Jx
©2010

Pray, May I get some Privacy in the Privy?

Never, since I had children, have I been allowed to go to the bathroom in peace.

Not once, I tell you.

My Beloved, on the other hand, (along with the husbands of every other woman I know when the subject has come up in conversation) can do his ablutions in absolute privacy.

The man can even wallow in the bathtub reading a book for up to an hour undisturbed.

But, as soon as I even think about taking a shower or answering the call of Nature, the natural reaction of my children is to desperately need me for something that cannot possibly wait just a few minutes more.

Due to a design flaw (just one of the many) in our supposed award-winning-architect designed (read: male, in every sense of the word) house, if the doors to the Master bedroom and the family laundry are open simultaneously, the neighbours get a direct view into our room…and whatever’s going on in there at the time.

Worst time is first thing in the morning, when the kids duly deposit their dirty washing then just have to come into my room whilst I’m having a rinse. Yes, all too often I’ve been caught with a real ‘roo-in-the-headlights look as too late I realize my error in strutting out of the shower sans towel.

The same architect also thought it a good idea to install the type of window in the ensuite that if opened to let the steam out or fresh air in, enables the next door neighbours- and those next door to them- a clear view through too. I’m positive it’s not quite what the muppets meant when they sang about how you get to meet the people in your street, on those children’s TV shows. (Just quietly, I've never lived in the kind of neighbourhood where you meet the kind of people they do on a daily basis!)

Nonetheless, I am sure that the entire neighbourhood knows it whenever I’m ‘visiting the ladies’- if not for the aforementioned ludicrous layout, but by the accompanying “I am in the bathroom, please leave me be!” from me.

I actually started composing this blog in my head whilst parked upon the porcelain- to the strains of “Mu-um, he called me dumbhead!” and “Mu-um, can you fill up my water bottle?” and this particular chorus also included my Beloved at the door: “Are you in there? You’re wanted on the ‘phone.”

For goodness sake, let me pee in peace please!

But no, a quiet time on the pot is not my lot in life. Nor can I ever seek solitude in the shower. As for tranquility in the tub- forget about it.

So, again I pose the question: does a mother ever get some privacy in the privy?

Unfortunately every mum I’ve asked has the same answer, and it is not the same one to: Does a bear poop in the woods?!

Jx
©2009