The hall and other Bergmanesque sagasWhen Monster 2 was a toddler - quite a small one, my lovely brother and sister-in-law came over and entertained the Monsters while we painted the ceiling of the hall. I well remember because M2 had the "nos". This particular toddler disease involves compulsive repetition of the word "no". We stopped for afternoon tea and my brother decided to "no" her back several times. It was just too much for the little petal and she dissolved into a wet puddle. She had to abandon afternoon tea and be de-high-chaired for an extended cuddle.
It was fantastic to get the ceiling done as the proximity to the badly ventilated shower had caused some beautiful long curls of paint.
Well, M2 is a strapping 5 year old and we have recommenced hall operations. We have been sugar soaping, sanding, spackling, etc for some months. We are hoping to paint the walls before the monsters hit their teens.
One of the side effects of these lengthy operations is the higglety piggletyness of the house. Everything in the hall is distributed between three bedrooms as well as boxes of painting gear with tremendous amounts of dust and deceased arachnids on top - a special gift from the shed.
I have no idea why other people's houses are not covered in rubbish. I put it in the same mystery category as children in clothes brochures. How do you get a two year old with clean hair, no head bruises from losing wars with coffee tables, snot free and with no sticky bits, in clean, well pressed clothes, looking rested and happy and standing still? How does that happen? How? Mind you, I suppose you could airbrush off vegemite ear stains.
Enough of this existential angst - I leave you with the happy sound of trowel-work swooshing me gently from the hall.