It’s a rite of passage. The messing up by a child of something important to an adult. I bet you have your own examples.
Wife-features and I had been blessed with mostly angelic behaviour till recently. Our luck has officially run out.
Last weekend as we prepared for Toddler’s first long train trip (two hours to Castle Greyskull aka Aberdeen) it seemed a book given to our little angel had quickly disappeared. Upon quizzing Toddler says it’s under the floor. This of course makes no sense. But she’s insistent.
I locate the one loose bit of board we have for accessing cables and pipes and take a photo. That’s what you see on this page. Bottom left. A sad and lonely book. No hope of retrieval. It will be discovered like a Blue Peter time capsule when our Victorian terrace is bulldozed in 50 years to make way for an additional on-ramp for the Nairn bypass.
No great shakes. But Toddler topped this the other night.
Wife-features and I were having an intelligent grown-up conversation. At which point my internal alarm began to ring. Normally we don’t have time or energy and it wasn’t quite bath time/bedtime yet. Uh oh.
Toddler appeared in the hallway at this point looking like a ghost. Clarted in white gunk. Sudocrem. The antidote to nappy rash. I dashed to her bedroom. Sudocrem in the carpet. The antidote to clean carpet. Arg.
Old wives apparently recommend covering the greasy splodge with brown paper and ironing it to absorb it. I was half tempted to throw white wine and salt on it or some sort of solution involving vinegar and lemon juice. (Can you tell a few years ago on days off I watched back to back episodes of How Clean Is Your House?)
Instead some anthrax-style chemicals were sourced and the carpet was given a good scrubbing. There’s a pale patch so I’ll probably give it another go just to be sure. Toddler is sorry, apparently. I’m pleased to say both WF and I remained calm. The wee lass is only two and a half. My worry though is now she’s set the bar so high what’s next?
In discussion today with Green Gran it seems I still have “top trumps” when it comes to the kid-wrecks-adult-thing.
I reckon I was about five or six years old. I was outside our house happily playing. I looked up after hearing my dad yelling and could see him barrelling towards me with a purple face and a mouth as round and as big as a hula hoop.
What was I doing?
Well, apart from sitting on top of our Renault 4 spreading gravel on the roof.
Where does Toddler get her cheeky streak from I wonder?