In the dark, dark night...

Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night,  I am starving hungry.

 

The midnight munchies strike a lot.  Even if I have taken a sleeping pill, I might wake up like a zombie if The Daddy disturbs me, and make my way to the fridge, mumbling "Foooooood, muuuuust haaaave foooood".

 

The Mr. gets home at around 2am,  and wakes me up with his rummaging and door slamming, TV watching and loud slurping beer drinking sounds.  He also washes up like a cement mixer.  He just isn't one of natures Ninjas, Yknow?

 

I really don't want to get up and wake up the whole house.  I know I shouldn't  eat something that will upset my stomach (like cold fried chicken from the fridge, or greasy pork curry, tastes good at the time, but trust me, I regret it in the morning, sour stomach and all). 

Sometimes I wake up with a filthy migraine or I can't breathe because of allergies.  The middle of the dark night is something I see a lot.  I have terrible insomnia, but I KNOW it's a bad idea to eat at that time of the evening.

 

 I have to take medicine, and all my meds have "take with food" written on them. For these instances, I have tiny little packets of crackers secreted around my desk, and I sleep next to a glass of water. 

 

 

 We have no heat at the moment, so I piled both little boys and two hot water bottles into bed at nine last night, and covered us with all the blankets.   I snuggled down as far as I could, fending off kicking Duck, and trying to ignore Snoring Boy.

 

 About 5am I woke up from having a terrible dream.

 

 

Some huge monster with hundreds of sharp teeth, in rows and rows and rows was munching through the floor, getting closer and closer. It was horrible and relentless. The noise of the floor munching was getting louder and louder.

The more I tried to scurry away, and put some distance between me and it, the more floor it ate, and the louder and faster  it got.

 

 I woke up, gasping for help clinging to the blanket. 

 

 RIGHT next to my ear hole was Duck, having made himself a nest of all the bed covers, (apart from the thin blanket I was under, and the sleeping bag his brother was in),  eating crackers in my bed.

 

I have spent the morning vacuuming the bed.  My GOD he is a loud eater.....

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It's a poo emergency !

It's a poo emergency Mummee!

by Wendyon Sunday, 5 February 2012 at 12:28 ·

Last night we had a terrible poo emergency.

We never seem to have poo or spew emergencies when The Daddy is here.  Only happens to me. 

It was so bad, that I just shut the dunny door not being up to facing the task of cleaning it , and told everyone to take a wee down the bathroom  drain until I sort it out.  (they are all boys, it's not like they don't do this in the shower already).  So I put them to bed, rubber gloved up, and got down on my hands and knees to clean the walls, floor, door and toilet seat and bowl.  Yes, it was THAT heinous.  I gagged about 10 times, I fcuking hate cleaning the toilet, it's  always soooo disgusting.

I make my Mr.  do it, usually.  I don't piss on the floor, or miss the dunny altogether when I am drunk, so he has to do it.  I also make him take out the stinky garbage.  I can't stand the smell, and I won't tolerate the interrogation from the old lady brigade about what's in our garbage bags.

Last time he made me do the rubbish, I told one of the old hags it was the severed body parts of the last crusty old bitch who hassled me on my way to take out the trash, that's why they were in a bag marked "burnable".  I am now serving a double life time ban from the rubbish collection site for that little number.  Suits me fine, my Mr.  can deal with the withered old crones and their obsession over our garbage.

Anyway, about an hour and a half later, I had cleaned and disinfected the walls, floor, seat, bowl, door and buttons, used a whole bottle of bleach and half a roll of dunny paper.

Seems I let Duck have too much juice yesterday, and it gave him the Cadbury Squirts, he made it to the toilet, but he is so little, he has to balance his tiny arse over the seat, clinging on for dear life, while he does his business.
Then he slipped.  In Mid-Poo.   Oh the humanity.

It was a total shit explosion.  Witnessed by his brother who tried to help him up, and also got pooed on.  I was on the phone.  I couldn't tell the person I was talking to why I had to go.  People wouldn't understand.

I made them both get in the shower.  I cleaned up little poo hand prints.  I hope I got them all.

I thought it was a perfect crime, as I had scrubbed the dunny, the floor, the walls the door, washed the clothes, showered the kids, and made it all smell nice and look sparkling clean again.  Then I disinfected the bejesus out of my hands.  Twice.

I went to bed.  Heard The Daddy enter the apaahtoh around 3am, safe in the knowledge all evidence of the massive poo explosion that had occurred earlier in the evening had been flushed away, leaving a nice bleachy clean smell, and nothing else.

This morning, my Mr.  decided to go and take a long bath, and give himself a facial (because he is a vain bastard),
and while he was reclining in the bath, Duck came and dropped his dacks, and took a piss up against the bath, while he talked to his (probably shocked) father, then went to wash his hands.

The Daddy quizzed me as to why The Duck told him Mummee has instructed everyone to piss down the drain...

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