The Final Rinse (or An Exercise in Precision and Futility)

So my friend Glooking-Mass Lama decided to attack strategically approach the mountain slightly overflowing basket of dirty laundry today. It’s been raining for the past couple of days and kids have a way of accumulating washing when they’re well. When they’re sick, the pile grows at an alarming rate. On a totally unrelated note, blowouts that go through denim overalls are terrifying.


Glooking-Mass Lama did the first load and put the second on. She decided to wait a little while before hanging out the first load, planning on doing both together. She looked out the window and, seeing nothing but blue skies and happy fluffy white clouds, was sure she had plenty of time.

Oh, Glooking-Mass Lama. When will you learn?

About 15 minutes later she looked out and realised that the happy fluffy white clouds were now sharing the sky with some mopey damp grey clouds. That’s logically when she decided it was time to hang the washing on the line.

It’s a bit of a trek to the washing line while I’m she’s house sitting, so she had plenty of time to reflect on how her plans may not have been the wisest. Still, she could maintain her optimism while blue remained above.

So out the first load of washing went. By the time she’d finished, the second load was ready to be hung, so out it went. As the line gradually filled with clothes, the sky gradually filled with grey clouds and her mind gradually filled with doubts.

It finally occurred to Glooking-Mass Lama that she could use her iFruit to give her an idea as to whether the heavens were about to burst open. Her heart sank as she opened her trusty weather app and looked at the forecast.

A few showers.

Okay, so not ideal, she thinks. What about the radar?

That blue stuff is rain, right?


There was little she could do now – at least the clothes would have a short time to dry. She wound the clothes line right up and started back up the garden, doing her best to ignore the occasional sudden splash from the sky.

After that it was all about precision – waiting to bring in the washing until the last possible minute to maximise drying time, but getting it inside before the rain. It was also about compulsively checking the radar and the sky, for her constant vigilance now would certainly make the storm pass.

It didn’t.

Just as she sat down to lunch and uttered the words “I’ll get the washing in immediately after lunch”, the heavens opened.

Glooking-Mass Lama leapt to her feet, preparing to launch herself down the stairs to rescue her clothes. Then she reconsidered.

Slippery bricks + panicky run = breaky bones.

She lowered herself back down, defeated, as she watched her laundry receive The Final Rinse.

Then – the clouds blew over and blue sky reappeared! The wait and watch game began again.

And the exact same thing happened – moments before she went to collect her laundry, the rain pelted down. And then cleared.

This happened four times all up. By the end of it, she was paranoid pretty darn certain that she was the butt of some sort of celestial joke. Glooking-Mass Lama decided that was it. She had a limited amount of time and patience remaining, so she gave the washing half an hour after the final downpour.

She marched determinedly down to the line and began to take the essentials off the line. Today’s ‘essentials’ meant pajamas, anything required the following day and anything that was drier than when it was hung up.

Halfway through, a spot splashed on her nose.

At the three-quarter mark, several more landed on her arms.

By the time the last item she had earmarked for survival was safe, the rain was pelting down. In a moment of determination, she flattened herself over the washing basket to protect her precious semi-dry cargo, and then stood, pressing the basket to her front.

Casting a final despairing glance back at those she could not save (she later told me it was heartbreaking to condemn them to their fate), she ran – but not over the slippery bricks. She stepped quickly and carefully over those.

Safely inside, she deposited the basket in the laundry and loaded the dryer. Glooking-Mass Lama sat and stared out at the rain as she listened to it drumming on the roof and consoled herself that those she could not save would have a few more Final Rinses.

You can read more about Glooking-Mass Lama here and here.


Good medicine

We had a medical emergency today.

Thankfully, we just happened to be seeing our doctor at the time, so we were able to receive prompt treatment.

We’d just finished and were about to leave when Alpha suddenly screamed “STOP!!” and burst into tears.

As any concerned parent would, I flew to my son’s aid. It took a few moments to get him to calm down before he spoke.

“My need see doctor.”

This is where being a nurse is a help and a hindrance. While any number of ailments from viral meningitis to pathological fractures raced irrationally through my brain, I calmly asked him what was wrong. In between sobs, he delivered the worst possible news.

“My tail rotor is broken!!”

Amazingly, it turns out that our GP is the leading expert in toddler-helicopter illnesses and injuries and was able to assess the damage immediately.

After a thorough examination, he informed us that with rest, Alpha’s tail rotor will be fine.

Crisis over, we left; reassured and exceedingly grateful for our fabulous GP and his superior care.

Perfection Pending

I hate baths

Tonight’s post is brought to you by a greedy little baby who drank too quickly and covered mummy in puke…and an awesome husband who took the baby and sent mummy off to have a bath.

I have a confession to make. But you’ve probably already guessed it based on the title. Hmm. Should have thought that through a little more. Anyway.

I hate baths.

Not for the kids. I love bath time for the boys – they have a blast and it means freedom bedtime is imminent.

No, this is for me. Hate is possibly too strong a word – I just really don’t get them. I love the idea of them. I know that they’re supposed to be the height of luxury and relaxation, but they don’t seem to agree with me.

First, there’s the issue of comfort. I can never get bath pillows to work properly, leaving me with two options – a hot tap between my shoulders, or swapping ends and sitting with a plug under my bum. Quite frankly, neither of those appeal to me. I usually wind up sitting bolt upright down the deeper end near the taps.

Cue relaxation.


Any second now.

Oh, wait. There are more hurdles to getting really comfortable. I’ve always understood the aim of a relaxational (that’s totally a word) bath to be sinking in up to your chin and enjoying almost total submersion in hot water. Sounds like bliss…

My legs are the length of our tub. I can’t get all of my body into the water at once. I can sink in up to my ears to ensure a deliciously warm back and leave my legs freezing (a logistical challenge with no bath pillow), or I can sit (once again) bolt upright and shivering from the waist up while my legs are toasty. I usually opt (again) for sitting up and pour a cup of water over my back periodically.

Soooo…am I relaxing now?

Then there’s the matter of what to do. I don’t bring books or i-things into the bathroom because I don’t trust myself…so I just sort of sit there. Staring at the water and my hairy legs. For a brief moment I consider shaving them. Then I remember it’s nearly winter and I’m kidding myself if I think I’ll wear anything other than jeans.

Sure, I could just enjoy not doing anything. I understand the appeal of being alone with your thoughts, but quite frankly, sitting in a half-icy, half-toasty condition isn’t conducive to peaceful reflection or meditation.

Have I been in here long enough to justify the amount of water I’ve used?

There’s only one cool thing about baths.

Kids’ bath toys are cool. If I have a bath, I can play with them to my heart’s content and I don’t have to share.

Eventually, though, the water gets cold and I move to a half-icy, half-icy state. That’s even less comfortable, so I manoeuvre my way out of the tub. My feet are all wrinkled and prune-y. I wrap myself in a towel and then glance back at the bath.

I realise I haven’t yet pulled the plug.

Now I’m really in a pickle. Do I pull the plug and risk waking the kids, or leave the water in until morning and brave it then?

I choose the former, but try and mask the sound with the bath mat. I fail miserably. An unholy noise like a kraken realising it’s Monday morning erupts and I hold my breath, waiting for a cry.

Blissfully, none is heard.

But, honestly, that’s too close for comfort. I once again resolve to forego baths in favour of slightly longer showers until I forget the reality again and get sucked into the bath bliss myth.

Am I the only one who dislikes baths?

Toy Tuesday: Red Glider goes into hiding

Well, who would have thought that a dinosaur menacing an elephant would be popular? Thanks so much for the likes, comments, and even shares! It’s very much appreciated.

The toys have had a busy week. I’ve decided to show you all of the shenanigans I’ve captured, because I can’t choose just one.

I was surprised to discover that plane was on the menu this week…

I think this is actually a secret hiding spot. Not for something as childish as hide-and-seek. Oh, no no no. Red Glider has been out on a secret spy mission. Unfortunately he was identified by his nemesis, Blue Jet (not pictured), so he’s lying low for a few days

And what exactly is Red Glider’s mission, I hear you ask?

I’m so glad you asked.

He was sent to learn more about a modern world filled with dinosaurs.

Clearly, the prehistoric crew aren’t intimidated by technology. Far from it – Tricy has resorted to growling at all who dare to even look in the direction of his remote. This isn’t a territorial thing. Tricy is determined to get through his tv programme tonight regardless of what happens, so he has resolved to deny access to all channel surfers.

I have a suspicion I know who the main culprit is for the channel surfing.

You guessed it.


Ranna-T is doing his best to stop Pengin from seizing the remote and doing something he regrets.

Sadly, Ranna T is a pretty bad enforcer. It’s not easy when your arms are so short.

…or is he being a bully again and insisting Pengin surrender all ?

These last two are technically cheating because I was the one putting Ranna-T down in these ones. But seriously, they really made me laugh.

Because T-Rex bums are really happening in Paris this season.

Then things…progressed.

I just don’t know where to begin with this one. What on earth is Ranna-T after? Is he searching for Red Glider’s hiding spot? Has he lost his car keys? Can he even reach the steering wheel? Or is he just trying to work more more pink into his wardrobe?

Over to you – what are the toys really up to?

Perfection Pending