I find myself rinsing shampoo out of my jeans.
There’s shampoo all over the bottom of one leg.
And there's a reasonable splodge on the other leg too. I'm also rinsing a foot too.
As there was a puddle of shampoo next to my jeans...
Mrs. Amazing walks past me.
Whilst I am rinsing. And points out that rinsing is unlikely to get shampoo out. They need washing.
I've already been doing this for five minutes.
I stubbornly carry on rinsing as I need clean jeans for work tomorrow.
And I haven’t got round to washing my other pair. Trouser wise it’s quite the disaster for me.
I need one reasonably clean pair for work.
Ideally not covered in shampoo.
Ideally not so stinky they can walk on their own.
And, conversely, not smelling of tropical mango shampoo either. I've a rep to protect.
So I rinse.
(It’s like looking in a
very distorted and basically lying mirror ,
I had just declared I was exhausted and was heading to bed.
When I found my shampoo soaked jeans.
Obv. I donned my deerstalker hat and get all Sherlock on the crime scene.
Words and thoughts flashed across my mind. Cryptic messages unwound themselves in a light display across my eyelids. My telescopic eyeballs clicked into gear and nano-inspected every last shred of evidence. After much time and brain pain thinking.
I deduce three two key things.
1. The shampoo bottle is missing. I looked for it fourteen times, which equals Mrs. Amazing looking once. It should be next to all the spilt shampoo.
2. The shampoo is children’s shampoo. (Because it smells like sweets, although it doesn’t taste of sweets all. Very disappointing).
3. I would give pretty much anything (not comics) to be as cool Sherlock.
I'm feeling very cool and sexy.
For getting my Sherlock on. When reality ruins everything by reminding me it’s 11pm, I’m very tired, stood in low light, in boxer shorts, one foot submerged in shampoo, sniffing the leg of my jeans. Curtain not drawn. Being looked at, by people in the street.
I'll suggest this particular Sherlock scene to SirMr. Moffat next time I see him.....
So that's my idea? What ya think Steven?
Moffat: 'ARGH! You again?' <Is scared>
Moffat: 'How do you keep getting in? Past the guards, and dogs?'
Moffat: 'And into my bedroom? While I'm sleeping?'
Moffat: 'Huh? What?'
<Grins> Dedication! ... oh and these help...
<Show half empty bag of sausages and beer cans>
Moffat: 'You need to leave NOW' <Is all serious>
Okay... <Hangs head and mopes out, shuffling feet>
<Opens a beer>
So the questions are.
Why do I constantly keep stalking and ambushing people, in the most weird and frightening ways? What the smeging hell happened here?
How did my jeans get covered in shampoo.
Where is the bottle? Why isn’t it here?
Is it still leaking somewhere else?
I bet it is.
But to make this even more confusing.
Add fuel to the fire as it were. Stoke the engines. Beat the Wookie at chess. Stomp about in the sand making vibrations. Say his name out loud...
Let me take you back.... Back to before bedtime...
Back to when the children ruled the house... Back…
[It goes a bit wobbly]
(We won’t need roads where we are going… This thing doesn’t really move…
Which is totally fine for time travel...)
I got home from work.
Did the rounds of kissellos. Gave Mrs. Amazing her daily summer holidays 'I survived and didn't kill any of them' sticker. And took stock of how everyone was doing...
Miss5: Naked. Not unusual. But happy and tired out
BabyBoy2: Dancing around in circles demanding (nicely) Octonauts. And very, very happy I am home. Knackered.
Boy9: Watching tele and utterly motionless. He may actually be hibernating. Tired. Grumpy.
Mrs. Amazing: Well ...
... Well Mrs. Amazing needs a break.
She has been questioned; about anything, everything, been pulled; hugged, licked, prodded, screamed at, played with, argued for and against, has had to listen to many mad, or never ending, stories all day; whilst making sure the wild ones eat and are generally happy and having fun.
Poor Mrs. Amazing is done in. So she heads off for some phone time a quick lie down in the dark, in the quiet, without any children, with a phone, and hopefully some wine.
Bathtime, therefore, is handed to me.
Boy9 is easy to get cleaned.
He can shower himself. <Points at hose> No worries there.
The only difficult bit with Boy9 is breaking his connection with the tele. It's like hypnosis for him when he's knackered. He also feels it's his universal-given right to be able to watch cartoons before bed. It's not.
Boy9 go shower will ya?
Boy9: <No response or motion at all>
Boy9: <Even less motion, and utterly no acknowledgement going on>
[Click of tele powering down]
Boy9: 'HEY! WHY?' <Lots of angry motion. LOTS>
<Hugs him> Go shower
Boy9: 'NO. Put the tele back on'
No. You smell. Please, for us all, go shower Captain Stinky Shower first. Then tele
[One millasecond passes]
Boy9: <Boy9 has disappeared>
<Sounds of shower running are heard>
Which leaves me Cheech and Chong Miss5 and BabyBoy2 to bath.
I tell them. And BabyBoy2 stands in front of me and says ribbit until I agree to bounce him up the stairs like a giant frog. After bouncing him up BabyBoy2 is giggling away and saying ribbit in his lovely baby voice. I can see spots before my eyes and may fall back down the stairs.
I release the lovely loon and go back for the reluctant Miss5.
Come on! Bathtime!
Miss5: 'Not coming'
I'll rocket you up
Miss5: <Contemplates> '... Ribbit'
Really? Are you both trying to kill me … OK. Fine…
<Does stretches and limbers up>
<Ribbits Miss5 who is three times bigger than BabyBoy2 up the stairs>
<Collapses to knees at the top>
Miss5: <Runs off happy>
<Gasps for a while>
I'm pretty stinky from my day.
So I dive into the bath with them. I just about fit cross legged. Leaving Miss5 and BabyBoy2 enough space to play.
We have the standard 'who has a penis?' conversation from Miss5.
(Me and BabyBoy2 do. Miss5 does not).
I explain why pointing and laughing isn't always appropriate.
I’m clean so I hop out of the bath. It's easier to clean them from outside of the bath.
Being able to move quickly always helps
I can't be bothered to get dressed properly so I throw my
Star Wars flobby trousers on, and leave MY JEANS in the bedroom. Which is where I will find them later.
Both children are cleaned.
Then the logistically tricky part starts. Getting them both out of the bath. Dry. And jammies put on. Without anyone getting to cold. Or mucky again.
BabyBoy2 first so Miss5 gets a few on her own to play.
We have to bring a few Octonauts (toys replicas) with us. But BabyBoy2 is pretty cool about it. He's dried and giggled. And I leave him watching CBeeBies (100% safe) whilst I rush to get him a nappy.
(Hey! Has anyone one seen my very grown up, very scary, thought provoking book?
<Mrs. Amazing passes my Spidey comic>
… er… this’ll do until I find my book…
I have to rush.
Because BabyBoy2 is prone to weeing on the bed in these moments. Which is a right pain. Washing double sheets is a right faff. And lying to Mrs. Amazing about why a bit of the bed is wet never sits well...
Mrs. Amazing: 'Why's this bit wet?'
Mrs. Amazing: 'No... you didn't... Ewwww!'
Mrs. Amazing: 'That's disgusting!!!'
No it's not.
Mrs. Amazing: 'It is... Ewww ewwww!;
I don't get you sometimes. I admit it was a mistake getting any on the bed
Mrs. Amazing: 'Ew'
But I fail to see what is so disgusting about me practicing my impression of Rhod Gilbert yodeling under water <Is serious>
Mrs. Amazing: 'You expect me to believe that?’
<Gets water, takes a swig> Yode-glug-lay-glug-heehoo-BOY-O!
Mrs. Amazing: <Is speechless>
<Marks moment in diary for historical reasons>
Mrs. Amazing: '... I'm sorry for doubting you… It's… It’s a good impression too'
Thank you <Leaves with dignity>
A nappy is shoved onto BabyBoy2.
He doesn't seem to have moved. Miss5 has her hair washed with tropical mango shampoo and popped out of the bath. She is dried and giggled. Then I sit and comb out the billions of knots she has put in her hair throughout the day...
Is this Golden Syrup? <Has found a splodge>
Miss5: 'Yep' <Is watching CBeebies>
Is this Porridge? <Has found a bowls worth>
Is this glitter? <It’s like the floor of new year’s eve pub>
Miss5: 'What colour?'
Red, blue and green
Miss5: 'Nope... Wait. Did you say red?'
Miss5: 'Then yes'
<Looks at Miss5 and wonders…>
Those two warm and dry.
I go to tidy the bathroom. Where I find Mrs. Amazing.
We quickly catch up and Team Parent (yay!) quickly discuss plans for bedtime, tomorrow, and all pressing things we to sort out.
Then I step in shampoo for the first time.
Yep. It's gonna happen later too. My lucky day. But now, in the bathroom with the candlestick I step in a small puddle of shampoo. I find the shampoo bottle. Do the lid up and put it away.
I probably knocked it off. And it was probably me in a rush that didn't shut the lid properly.
It’s a parent to child for bed.
So there's no chance for anyone to grab a shampoo bottle at this time.
They go to bed. Eventually.
[It gets a bit wobbly again, there’s some smoke, it’s very 70s sci-fi]
Welcome back to now, now.
That's all the facts.
So. When the smeg did one of them, grab the shampoo, run into my bedroom. Pour it on my jeans, the floor. Then pick the bottle back up and luze it back onto the bathroom floor. Open. For it leak again, for me to step in earlier. (I do hope you’ve been paying attention and are not confused).
(The dancing potato in a pool of water is symbollocks...)
I don’t think it was Boy9.
As shampoo is kind of his holy water at the moment. And he hasn't touched any shampoo for a month or so. No matter what he says.
Miss5 was in the bath.
So had see done it. There would water everywhere.
I did grill ask her the next morning. See if she would fess up or anything.
Either Miss5 can either lie brilliantly and survive a full Daddy REALLY stare... Or it wasn't her. She’s normally pretty honest.
Which leaves BabyBoy2.
BabyBoy2 is a teeny tiny boy. And there’s no chance he could have done all that, in the time it took me to run down stairs and get a nappy.
So really… Who did it?
<Looks suspiciously at the Cat>
<Cat sleeps, he cares not>