Thursday, September 6, 2012

Curling Out A Toffee Crisp

At this very moment a strange man is pooing in my house.

I can't express how happy I am that he's using the toilet. I just wanted to get that off my chest (God only knows what awfulness Google will do with all that) right off the bat. But it's times like this that the whole exercise of defecating irritates me. It's a perfectly natural, biological function. We all do it. Although I imagine the Daily Mail would argue that Kate Middleton doesn't. But she does - and the look like Walnut Whips. Or maybe Turkish Delight. That seems more regal somehow.

Anyhoo - the man is supposed to be here. He's a contractor and he's fixing the floor. You may or may not have read the (ridiculously long) story about my wife and I buying a derelict house sight-unseen in a county auction. And how it was full of bees, junk, deer heads, all the stuff the prior owner had ever accumulated. But mostly how it was collapsing in on itself so we had replaced every inch of wall, floor and ceiling in the entire house bar two rooms. One is our bedroom - which looks a lot like what I imagine Barbara Cartland's zombie coffin would look like. The other is the downstairs "dining room." It was the old ladies bedroom. The floor is so crooked that if you try to eat a bowl of soup in the room you'd have to chase it across the room before it hit the ground. We knew full well what would be required to fix it. Not just a patch job - but the whole entire thing would have to be ripped out. We knew that because the other two rooms downstairs had to be completely re-done. Well - the kitchen floor was already in the basement when I first walked through. And the living room floor was buckled and collapsed in random spots once we were all working in it.

So that's the case here too. Because as soon as the hardwood came up it just started crumbling underneath. Any contractors or carpenters will tell you that the floor on top was holding it all together - and now it's up the whole thing has given up. So we hired a guy to do that far far quicker than any of us could and with the built-in knowledge of how to do it so it's square. But at the time of writing this he was sat waht would have been about six feet from me making his own (to continue the British-chocolate-as-poo analogies) Lion Bars.

Speaking of candy (tenuously, I'll admit) the only thing my son has managed to convey now that his sister isn't here is that he should be allowed the remainder of the stash they collected at the last parade we went to. I'm presuming he just thinks that as she isn't around she won't know who did it. It took me some time to convince him that it wasn't a good idea. In the end I ended up suggesting we maybe makes something  candy-like to share amongst everyone. But all that did was have him get excited about his idea (held for a week or so now) that we should make hot dog flavored ice cream. Which is an awful idea. So I started telling him we should make gummy worms, but that they should be Lincolnshire sausage flavored. Which I genuinely looked up. And I came across this chart which is in the same ball park. I don't eat candy - but a gravy flavored gum? Oh baby....

My son though is trying to get on with his day. Which is hard when there is so much banging, drilling, sawing and singing going on. Which was why we went out for the morning until just before lunch. Sine coming back he's been shoving his train about and looking forlorn and lonely. I've explained to him too that aside from the enormous number of random "training days" that the school systems have that his sister will never again be home during the days during school term. That's completely new for him too. She has been constantly with him at home since he can remember. Of course she went to Pre-K school last year but it was for three hours a day. Not from breakfast until just before dinner. It'll be a big adjustment for him. And who knows what it will do to their relationship as brother and sister. I have this non evidence-based theory that they'll appreciate their time together more. That's clearly wishful thinking.

On top of that I've already noticed the enormous help my daughter was at keeping the two of them entertained. Now I am the source of all entertainment and I feel tired from solidly focusing. It's only lunch time. I've run out of things to do that interest either of us already and he's not up for going back outside at the moment (too hot). I had decided at some point that - if my son naps enough - I would watch the entire TV show Lost from start to finish to see if it actually was as smart as I thought it was initially. I'll even pretend that I'm taking inspiration from Evangeline Lilly and Emilie de Ravin sweating a lot on a beach. I'm sure they can both help me wrestle through some ideas (in chocolate pudding, if needs be) on what my son and I can do that we'd enjoy a lot.

Which right now is train doctoring. This isn't from today but from yesterday - but my camera batteries are dead. But it's effectively the same thing.

No comments:

Post a Comment