The Wet Sleeve Saga...

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Last night I had a wet sleeve. Ask me how? I also had about 1/2 tonne of wet towels. Ask me how again? Master T. That is how. Master T and bath time. Want more clues? Well, Master T will spend ages explaining to me why he doesn't need a bath and I, being the thoughtful Mother that I am, will listen to his argument, and then send him for a bath.

So it was that he had the bath running

He didn't want a bath

He forgot he had the bath running

He came calmly down the stairs some time later...

"Mum" he said

"Yes" I said, thinking ("okay best get off Blogger and make dinner")

"The bath is overflowing, I sort of forgot about it"

Sure enough, behind him was coming a waterfall down the stairs. He had enough gumption to turn off the bath. God love him

"Did you think to empty the bath a bit?" I said as I stuck my long sleeve in to an alarmingly full and deep bath. Then "Don't just stand there, get some towels!!!" I used exclamation marks in my tone.

"If the builder had built this right then the water should have flowed to the floor waste" I said. "Now we know it doesn't" 

15 towels, 4 rooms, 1 set of stairs, 1 door jam leaking through to the floor below, 2 bathmats, 1 outfit previously left on the bathroom floor by said culprit and a nervous Master T later....

I asked him what he had learned from this. He said he had learned not to leave the bath on. I said I had learned that I now had 15 towels to wash that I didn't have before. I pointed this out to him.

I asked him if he thought from now on that when I sent him for a bath that he could just, you know, have a bath. He thought this might work.

 Then the Silver Fox rang. I was able to point out our new discovery about the floor waste. He said "now we know"

Yep. now we do. That, dear folks is how my sleeve got wet. Well, you did ask. Sort of....

Ciao for now...
 

Close Shave...

Master T has had a hard week. It all started with a haircut. Now Master T has thick glorious hair that grows like, well, grass....  He is a sweaty little beast so off to the hairdressers he went, with his sister, for a trim. Now, I was not present at the hairdresser but had prior knowledge of 'the plan' to go from some long locks he could flick, to a very short 'do'. Whatever. I rather liked his 'flick' but it was getting expensive to tame. Anymore that 2 trims a term really is a bit much. So, he came out with a short 'do'. Quite a radical change but he had been this short many times before. We all loved it. I think the hairdresser was a bit concerned that I would freak out but hey, it is his hair.

The next day he went to school....

And the comments started... Not really nice ones either

He came home in tears. Angry. Very upset. 'I'm not going back'

We talked for a long time about people and comments and being noticed. We talked about protecting his little heart with armour from the inside. We talked about how tomorrow everyone would be talking about something else. We talked about him not 'pounding' the next person who told him he 'looked gay'

He hopped out of the car in the morning and squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and 'braced' himself for the day. To remain calm, to look like he didn't care, to laugh it off... He did care. Very much. My heart bleeds for him, my sensitive, gorgeous little man. And yes, I did ring his teacher to keep an eye on him.

Thankfully, kids being kids, they were on to something else the next day and paid his haircut no adverse attention. He bounced home without a care.... 


Ciao for now


just Martha