I am genuinely terrified that one day, the chaos within this house is going to get the better of me and my husband will come home from work to find me rocking in the corner, naked, my mind seemingly on a child-free vacation somewhere in New Caledonia (the naked part will make sense soon).
Hopping into the shower one afternoon, Penny (2) asleep and Annabelle (4) watching Mister Maker on Netflix, I had high hopes I might actually get through a whole lovely shower uninterrupted and perhaps even have a couple of minutes spare to put a conditioning mask through my dry matted mane. After five minutes of relaxing bliss, with not a peep heard from the girls, I decided to apply the fortifying reinvigorating repair mask (or whatever mumbo jumbo promises it advertised which made me buy it in the first place).
Instructions say to leave it on for five minutes. Hmm five minutes is a long time, especially when I had already enjoyed five minutes of tranquil silence…ignoring my inner conscious, I opened the bottled, squeezed a huge blob of the silky soft, heavenly smelling cream onto my hands and proceeded to massage it into my hair – because, well, yolo.
Of course, the inevitable then happened…less than a minute later I hear banging, followed by a blood curdling scream coming from the kitchen.
I panic, and instantly my heart skips a beat. Visions of scissors, sharp knifes, blood, a jammed finger, a bookshelf fallen over and God only knows what else fill my mind…
I bolt out of the shower, goo from the mask oozing down my back, naked, dripping wet, slippery feet, titties flying, the wind in my never regions….running to my daughters aid.
There she is sitting on the floor, tears streaming down her face, banging on the kitchen door with her fist to get my attention.
“Darling, what is it? what happened? are you OK?”
I examine her all over for bumps, a cut finger, blood, traces of an open bottle of Spray and Wipe, froth coming out of her mouth and I see……nothing.
“Mummmmm! I spilt my waterrrrr! It’s all over my donut and I can’t eat it now.”
You. are. joking. me. Water on her f*ing donut. That is it, the dramatic little darling has spilt WATER on her f*ing DONUT.
It takes all my might not to scream back at her and have my own hissy fit right next to her on the floor but instead, I do what any good mum would do.
I examine the donut and try to brush off the water for her (literally the tiny spash that is on one tiny part of the donut) “Just get the tea towel, honey, it’s no big deal, just pat it dry, I’m wet and nude, the blinds are all open and I need to get back in the shower”.
She continues to wail like I’ve just told her Shopkins has been recalled from the Kmart shelves. I start heading back to the shower, my shoulders slumped with disappointment.
And of course, Penny has now woken up from all the commotion (she had only been asleep for 15 minutes) and as usual, my plans for a long, peaceful shower are tarnished.
Oh well, at least my hair received an excellent (far longer than the recommended 5 minutes) conditioning soak….
Now, I just need to think about how I’m going to explain to the neighbours, who no doubt saw the whole incident play out through the open blinds, why I was standing, naked, in the kitchen, with creamy white goo all over my face, neck and back…
oh well, yolo.