The Endless Cycle of Chores

No matter who we are or where we come from, there are some sort of basic chores in our every day lives. Being an impractical Mummy is no exception; as I’m home with Bubba all day, the lion’s share of chores are mine. This is not something I have a problem with, in fact Bubba is pretty good about most things.

The other day I said to him: “It’s time to do the washing now.” He knows what that means and he happily takes my hand and we wander into the laundry. Step one is to empty the clothes drier of yesterday’s efforts. I open the door, he pushes me out of the way and starts pulling clean clothes out like a madman. This is fine by me – I just put an empty washing basket nearby and let him fill it. I fold the clothes as he takes them out and together, we are a good team. Next we need to get the dirty washing. The dirty basket is in my room, but it has two handles. We take one handle each (if I don’t let him carry one end he gets very upset) and toegther we carry the washing down to the laundry.

Usually, he hands me the dirty washing and makes me say “Ta” for every single item. Sometimes, as on this occasion, he gets bored of teaching me manners and wanders off halfway through to play with the clothes horse or something. He’s a pretty good boy usually and he shuts us both in the laundry (he likes to close doors) so I always know where he is. Approximately. So I go on loading the washing machine by myself, listening to his baby babbles but not reaaaaaally paying attention, because I know roughly where his is. Sort of.

Suddenly, as I am putting bras in garment bags and such, I notice his giggles and gurgles have taken on a rather tinny sound. I stand there for a moment to process this and then: Oh. I turn around. Sure enough, he is nowhere to be seen. I follow my nose (or rather, ears) and discover a pair of feet hanging out of the drier.

He is in the clothes drier. In it, turned around and merrily sitting in the barrel, singing to himself as he dangles his feet out the door.

At this point I feel I should mention that I do not leave my drier plugged in. So it was off and unplugged. (Whew!) This is mostly for safety and partly to save on my electricity bill. So, relax, it’s not plugged in. But he’s still in the drier. It’s like some sort of tinny cubby. I crouch down and he sees me and laughs himself silly. I say: “What are you doing in there?” He answers me with a shrug, complete with sounds effects that are suspiciously similar to “I dunno,” if spoken aloud. I try: “Would you like to come out now?” He tilts his head and considers. “Nup,” he says, shaking his head. I am forced to say: “Mummy will need to lift you out now.” Once more, he says: “Nup.” Right. I thought this might happen.

If there is one thing my Bubba has inherited from both his parents in spades, it is willfulness and what others may call a stubborn streak. We often have arguments that go:
“No, Bubba.”
“No, Bubba.”
“I said no, Bubba.”
*Mummy takes him away from whatever it is, and a tantrum ensues.*

With this knowledge in mind, I reach in and grasp him around the waist to drag him out of the dryer. He braces his arms and feet and pushes back. The tug of war goes on for a bit whilst he laughs at my futile attempts to prove I am superior. Finally I give up and lean back, contemplating my options. Time to play dirty. I sigh in a sad, regretful way and say: “Oh well. I guess Mummy will have ice cream all by herself then. Bubba will have to miss out if he stays in the drier.” I shake my had and make another sad noise as I stand up, open the door and leave the laundry.

There is total silence as I walk to the kitchen and open the freezer. More silence as I get out a bowl. Then there is the sound of the spoon against the crockery. I hearsome muffled grunting and a few thumps, followed by the slamming of the drier door and the patter of little feet. “Mum, Mum,” echoes in the hall and then I have Bubba standing at my feet, eyes shining in delightful worship as he stares at the ice cream container.

He might be an evil genius, but it has to come from somehwere. I win and I get ice cream.
Don’t worry, all’s fair in love and war.

Has anything like this ever happened to you? Sharing is caring!

Lots of Love
Mummy Impractical


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