My husband invited over a couple students from his program for lunch this weekend. It was a beautiful, mild, clear morning and they were due to arrive at noon. The plan was to go out to a local pub for lunch and then over to this picturesque little town nearby for a walk.
This was the plan he told me about.... not them.
However, the plan started to change after an incident with CC that involved a stolen Lego, prompted the Animal to throw himself on the floor crying, nay, wailing non-stop for half an hour. Being a mommy of sound mind, I withdrew myself from the planned afternoon activities with the guests to stay home with the Animal and attempt to get his train back on the track. CC and Destructo were pumped and ready to go, so I felt confident sending them off with just Daddy-007 and his (young, not yet initiated into parenthood) classmates. No need to make them want to run off for vasectomies yet!
So, they arrive and the first thing I notice is that HOLY SHIT THEY ARE YOUNG! Like nineteen years old, young. Second, I notice that they are wearing tennis shoes.
Being a mother pervades every glance, doesn't it? I am not their mother, yet in my mind I not only tsk, tsk-ed my husband for clearly not informing them that a "walk in the country" was part of his plans.... But I went on to then tsk, tsk them for going to the country without appropriate footwear. It's not like everyone who lives in the area isn't aware that it rains every single flipping day here, right?
They all leave and I stay home for a happy three hours of board games, jigsaw puzzles, and 'Sean the Sheep' on iBBC with the Animal. I note that the day seems to be getting dark at 3 o'clock, but attribute it to the ever-shortening of days here that I presume will leave us with about four hours of daylight by the time the tide turns and it starts to brighten up again. [insert melodramatic sigh here]
A knock at the door signals their return and I open the door to see the rain coming down and the children racing inside yelling something about being drenched and freezing....
Joy. Of course they didn't bring coats with them, the sun was out when they left, after all.
Next, I see the hapless guests trying to pick around the mud on their shoes to unlace and extricate themselves from the mess before coming in to the house. Daddy-007 is busying himself with things in the car, I presume to avoid my reproach laden glances.
Everyone gets inside, the kids leave all their moist clothing in a heap in front of the washer (dammitall, I had worked all weekend to get the mountain of laundry down to an anthill and lordy here we go again) and then Daddy-007 brings in one of his guest's coats to me, explaining that his friend had taken a digger in the marsh he had brought them to for the walk, and n the process had gotten mud all over his ~cream~ colored jacket and would I mind washing it for him?
For those of you unfamiliar with the soil in marshes: it is as black as oil and damn near impossible to get out of clothing. So, I explain to the polite young man that I'd be happy to try and help and the only hope he has of getting the mud out is to soak it in OxiClean for an extended period. He says, "No, no, that's alright. I'll take care of it."
But my husband insists that I am happy to do it.
Isn't he sweet?
So, I get the jacket sorted out and into a vat of Oxiclean (that stuff really is a miracle cleaner, btw).
By then the kids are clamoring for hot chocolate, so I set to work making a big batch of cocoa, complete with marshmallows. I get Destructo and the Animal settled at the table with their cups and about 30 seconds later the Animal is accosting me for more marshmallows. I take a look at his cup, which is still full of cocoa, and tell him that no more marshmallows will be given until the hot chocolate is gone. He says, "No. Don't want hot chocolate!" And leaping from his chair, he sprints out of the room. Greedy little Destructo, who has a full cup of hot cocoa sitting in front of him, starts bouncing up and down in his seat crowing "I'll take his hot cocoa! I'll take it!!"
You see the pieces all falling into place, right?
Hot chocolate spilled across the table and onto the floor. And the walls. And the chair legs. And the table legs. And my boots. And the door mat. And splatters every other godforsaken item of furniture in the dining room.
F*ck hot chocolate. I am banning it for the rest of the winter.
And, just to be safe, my husband is not allowed to invite anyone else over. Ever.
p.s. In the spirit of full disclosure and fairness to Daddy-007, he says he emailed his friends the plan to go for a country walk. I still say tsk-tsk's were in order.