One of those days...

It was ‘one of those days’ chez nous, yesterday.

My wife phoned me to ask where I was at 6.30pm (I am normally back from home at about this time). I told her I had only just left work as was caught in a meeting 'till late. Wouldn’t be back until at least 7.30pm. Humph. I was told a serious ‘poo crisis’ had just erupted at home, and it was a clear and present danger. I said I was a little powerless to help out from the train. (I was just trying to clarify the situation).

Apparently the Poo Crisis was that our 4-yr old had a tummy upset and hadn’t made it to the loo in time, resulting in an explosion of war-like proportions that had decorated most of her limbs, clothing and the downstairs toilet floor. Our 4- yr old was most distressed at this point, and so was our 9-month old who refused to be put down (possibly from fear of poo-contamination, understandably). Our 2 year-old was also starting to complain. My wife said she rather had her hands full and was wondering, in a manic sort of way, how soon I would be home. Also – the favourite no-longer pink pants of our 4-year old had been dropped down the toilet as they were beyond redemption. I was most concerned that the toilet might get blocked by the pants, and shared this concern to my wife (please note that at this point I was sitting on a very crowded – and very silent – commuter train on the way home from London)…desperately sotto voce, but still managing to attract some bemused glances. My plumbing concerns didn’t seem to be registered alas by my wife. So, I offered some encouragement and said I’d see them all in an hour.

Coming in through the front door an hour later, I was met with the carnage. I admirably picked up the offending trousers, blew my nose… and flushed the loo.
“DON’T FLUSH THE TOILET!!!” yelled Mummy from upstairs. “MY PANTS!! I WANT MY PANTS!! DADDY’S FLUSHED MY PANTS! WAAAAAHHHHHHHH!” yelled my newly-distressed 4 yr-old who had just been pacified with the promise that her precious pink pants would be all fine by the morning. Oh dear.

Another hour later, the children were asleep. Sensitive husband that I am, I noticed my wife was looking a little tense.

“ Do you think you might be feeling a bit pre-menstrual?” I proffered, sympathetically.


What’s wrong with that??