02 November 2009

Glue His Mouth Up, It'll Match His Ears

Accountant doesn’t seem to hear as well as me. He also seems to have trouble identifying everyday objects located right in front of his very eyes. Add to this, his contraction of glue ear, and you too could enjoy Saturday mornings like this:

Acc [in pants and socks in kitchen]: Where’ve you hidden my cafetiere?
Me [unconscious in bed]: You left it by the toaster.
Acc: The roller coaster?
Chick [sat on my head]: I want a roller coaster?
Me: I said TOASTER!
Acc [not moving to look]: It’s not there.
Me [red faced]: Near the percolator.
Acc [still not moving]: There is no cheese grater?
Chick [bouncing on my head]: I want a roller coaster. Plllleeeassseeeee...
Me [purple faced]: You might actually have to move something to see it.
Chick [still bouncing]: Where mummy? Can I see it?
Acc: Why do you keep hiding things?
Chick [intrigued]: Why did you hide it mummy? Let’s find it [flinging off my duvet]
Me [cold and weeping]: I didn’t hide anything. There is no roller coaster.
Chick [exasperated]: There is! I want one. [sobs]
Acc: Where’s my coffee?

Reclaiming the duvet, I slid underneath it.

I heard Accountant pad into the bedroom so wrapped myself up tighter than a fajita in my 15 tog cocoon. Chickie began enquiries about swapping me for a mummy who didn’t hide roller coasters.

“Where’ve you hidden the coffee?” Accountant’s voice was muffled. A pleasing start.
“Coffee?” he tried again.
“Liz?” he began tugging at the covers, but my resistance was strong.
“Daddy, I want a rollercoaster?” chirped Chick.

It took an hour before I agreed to come out and my terms were simple:

I would no longer be expected to answer any questions that:

a) I’d answered before
b) required basic thought before asking
c) were anything to do with fairground rounds

It was a great success, rendering Accountant practically mute. I spent a blissful day soaking up the sound of bird song whilst eavesdropping on the wind whispering to the autumn leaves.

I decided it was definitely sustainable on a long term basis.

The next day, in clear breach of my Restricted Speech Policy, Accountant asked where I’d hidden Chickie’s shoes.

“In his wardrobe” I huffed.

Accountant insisted not. I stomped past him, vowing to ram one into each gluey ear, before coming to a flabbergasted halt. Accountant leaned in, eyebrows jiggling high above his head, a lopsided smirk grazing his earlobe.

I avoided eye contact as I struggled with the shocking revelation that they weren’t actually there.

“I told you” he trumpeted.

“I love you too, sweetheart” I tried, before making a hasty retreat. Accountant was in hot pursuit. I broke into a power walk.

“Say sorry” he began.
“Grey lorry?” I replied.
“I want a lorry” piped Chick.

I kissed his cheek before casting a loving wink at my husband. “Discuss it with daddy” I added before skipping away.

1 comment:

Blogging To A Better Bonnie said...

I too live with the daily "I can't find it ('cause it's not directly in front of my face)" comments from my husband.
It must be a gender specific character trait ;-).