I am having a bad week. Mrs Birdwatcher has gone off on a course (Creative writing) so I am in charge! The young birdwatchers think that this is great, because as my daughter keeps on telling me "Dad you can't keep control". The cats think this is great, because I forget to keep them secured in the utility room at night, so they get to sleep in the sitting room.
On Monday morning, I was struggling to get the young people up for school. Mrs B never has this problem, they just do what she says, admittedly there is a lot of muttering, but they do it. I popped down stairs to the front room and noticed a strange smell. The sort of smell that cats make when they have been locked in a room overnight! They were lying guiltily by the radiator. I could not see anything. It was early and my brain was not working properly yet, but I knew that they had done something! It was only when I got in to the kitchen and glanced down at my slippers that I realised that I was right and that I had stepped in it!
The young people found this very amusing. The cats decided that they would be better off popping outside for a bit. I had some scrubbing to do.
And then there is the washing machine. Don't get me wrong I am quite capable of using it and do so quite regularly but.......why does the contents of the laundry basket have to be sorted out into so many different piles? When I lived alone, I used to just put everything into the machine turn it on a low heat and let it get on with it. Nothing shrank and nothing came out looking pink! Now it all has to be sorted. And there does not appear to be any logic to it. If all the light coloured things and all the dark things went in separate piles I could understand. But its much more complicated than that. Not all dark things can go with any old dark thing, and you can't just sling it all into the dryer now. How can you tell which can and which can't? Mrs B says its down to practise (plenty of it) and being able to interpret the funny little signs on the labels. I think its a con. Life is too short, so I shall take a chance and go back to my old tried and trusted ways.
I don't believe it. I have just gone into the sitting room. Both young people were sitting on the sofa, well sort of slouched, heaped amongst the cushions. They were watching something on the telly. I asked them what it was. I think they said "Simpson's" but I had stopped listening to them. My attention had been taken by the large orange and brown stain on the arm rest of the cream coloured sofa.
I pointed at it. "What the fucks that" I wanted to say. But they are still young people so I left the "the fucks" out. "What's that?" a slightly hysterical note to my voice.
They both looked at where I was pointing. Fourteen year old daughter, for it was she sitting / slouching nearest to it, shrugged her shoulders and said "Its nothing, just a few drops of juice that got splashed. We have cleaned it up!" This last a defiant challenge.
"Well that's not good enough, it needs to be cleared up properly." I said
Sound of slamming door preceded by "Your so unfair....."
Only four days of me "not being in control" left. But the damage is mounting. Perhaps if I got all the washing done it would make things better?