Stuff is everywhere, no matter how tidy you are, when you have kids, or animals you realise how much stuff you have lying around the home. And you especially notice this when one of you is in a wheelchair.
You know what I’m talking about, shoes, pens, hotwheels, pens, hamma beads, crayons, schoolbags, pens . . .
And bits, just bits of stuff you can’t or don’t want to identify.
Much like a mouse sprinkles a trail of droppings everywhere it goes, and doesn’t clear up after itself, my children leave a trail wherever they go. (That bloody Hansel and Gretel – they were the WORST).
I swear I never had issues with back pain until I had kids. And not because I did the whole “yes-I-swallowed-a-space-hopper” thing twice over. No, this is about bending over (and not in the good way). Bending over to pick up STUFF.
I believe, and bear with me on this, that the floors in my house possess a unique, enhanced gravitational pull, all of their own. The way this works is thus: the moment an object leaves the sweaty clutches of a child’s hand the floor promptly pulls the object in with its devilish tractor beam and directs it to the nearest walkway. Here the object remains until either I remove it (or kick it) or it meets with a “crrrrunch”.
And now we have a cat. So should, by some freak turn of events, the dropped object fall perhaps a bit out of the way – under a table, or sofa, or the outskirts of the walkway, the cat, believing faithfully in the potential for fun from just about anything, will nudge it and tease it and helpfully manoeuvre it back into the crunching zone.
Strangely the kids don’t care about my anal attempts to provide a colour coded storage box for each category of toy/activity. Nor do they care for my attempts to regulate each room down to a specific and appropriate function. I mean, why wouldn’t you set up Batman’s lair on the toilet floor or create glitter sand art on the shag pile rug? Power Rangers just simply BELONG on the stairs. I do secretly love though that the door to the through-floor lift is currently decorated with Spider-Man stickers and badly constructed, threadbare pom-poms.
Sometimes, at the weekend, SA has a well-earned lie-in, which means that by the time he makes his way downstairs in his lift, there’s been some serious play taken place. “DADDY’S COMING!!!”. The alarm is triggered and Daddy descends from the ceiling, in his lift, slowly and ominously, like Darth Vader on The X Factor. The kids frantically tidy away any toy or object that they don’t want to end up in the crusher. All that’s needed to complete the moment is The Death Star March and some dry ice. This time the Power Rangers and My Little Ponies escape the wheels. The biro’s rarely do.