Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Backtracking a bit to the early formulation of my theory, here's an example. Ms 15 cannot find her black netball skirt. She huffs and puffs about it each Tuesday as if it is the fault of She Who Does The Laundry. SHDTL, by the way, is unmoved. Well, that part isn't hard, when the room of Ms 15, until recently looked like this:
Then, when Ms 10 couldn't find her swimming costume (before swimming squad) yesterday, Ms 15 also commented that she was missing a couple of pairs of blue undies, as well as the netball skirt. "I tell you, things go missing in this place." she says.
When Ms 15 was out today I decided to go looking for "things" in her room, and happened to look under the bed. OM effing G. There was a lot of "stuff" under there. Including the aforementioned litter. And dirty underwear. (Unfortunately not the blue ones.) And a truckload of dirty tissues. Several water bottles. And other stuff. Like a jigsaw puzzle, for instance.
Her fault?! Of course not. The "oh my goodness, how the hell did that all get there?" look on her face would have been priceless if I wasn't so bloody annoyed. She cannot imagine how the dirty underwear got there - she hasn't worn those for ages. (I cannot even bear to go so far as to give you the description of the dirty underwear... and I couldn't bring myself to take a photo of the pile of under-bed detritus that I left for her to clean up on the floor.) And seeing she doesn't wea them anymore, she should just throw them out, right? She also can't imagine how the dirty cup got there - in the drawer?!! Just plain weird, that one.
Of the four (4) towels hanging around the room, one had an orange stain on it. The 'child' who paints in her bedroom insists that it isn't paint, and she cannot imagine what it could possibly be, or how it got there.
After giving her some time to clean up, I went upstairs and looked in on her. Ok, so the rubbish was cleared (but not yet out in the bin) She was sitting on her bedroom floor doing the jigsaw puzzle. As you do, when your mother has just called you home and given you a lecture about the disgusting crap under your bed. And then you roll your eyes and wonder why in heaven's name your mother is just a bit stroppy. After all, she is innocent, and so Mum has no grounds for being cranky. Right?
So it's gremlins, patently.
OK, well, if not gremlins, then it is an orchestrated plan by the three of them to send me insane.
Yesterday when I got back from driving Ms 10 to swimming - in her beach bikini, seeing the one-piece was still MIA (as a tweenager, she isn't as adept at the 'must be SWDTL innuendo' strategy ) - I discovered that Ms 13 had decided to bake shortbread biscuits as presents for her friends. (Instead of cards, you see, which I support in theory. But...)
She is my competent one in the kitchen (moreso than her older sister - after all, she can break an egg, while Ms 15 still refuses to do so...) - however time management is still not a strong point. Within minutes of me arriving home, she actually had to be ready for a lift to netball, and this is the kitchen bench I was left with:
With that tray waiting to go in the oven. Ah, and with one tray IN the oven - with 10 minutes to go on the timer. (Lucky I noticed THAT, given that shortbread takes only 15 minutes, and she was going to be gone for over 2 hours.)
Lots of room for Mum to prepare dinner. NOT.
Probably Fred, the Gremlin, made her do it.
Either that, or the three of them are plotting to slowly nudge me over the edge into a breakdown.
And don't get me started on missing library and school books. Miss 9 lost her school one ($6 replacement fee). Then she begged to borrow Nancy Drew from the council library and despite all of my 'put it back when you have read it' rules, has proceeded to lose it, too. Arghhh!
Word verification is Swines, by the way. Who could it be talking about?
Definitely not just boys, gpm. And my other two girls are just as bad. (Mr Nobody doesn't flush the toilet either..)
Oh deary me. You figured it out. What evil plan will they come up with next.