I was encouraged to learn the other day that I am still able to instill fear into the hearts of my children. For once I wasn't cross with them but was having a fight with a laundry basket which had got caught on something. My laundry room is small at the best of times, but with the addition of the jird cage (the previous location was too close to the fireplace), and some items that had to be moved to make room for the Christmas Tree (which is still standing - yay!) there is not a inch of spare space.
Anyway back to the laundry basket, I am on my tippy toes, precariously balanced over the jird cage trying to retrieve the said basket with little success. Finally, after I've sent a pile of boxes careening to the floor, I've had enough and start to swear. To be fair all I said was "Son of a bitch", certainly not up to my usual standards, but apparently it was strident enough to signal to the rest of the family that there was a disturbance in the force.
Alerted by the loud crash caused by the boxes, Sid and Grady stood at the top of the stairs, anxiously peering down into the basement. Says Grady to his sister "Go and down and see what the matter is". "No" replies Sid vehemently "You do it". "Not likely" rejoins Grady, "She sounds pissed". He decides to compromise and in a faint voice calls down "Are you alright mum?". Of course I didn't hear him, so no answer was forthcoming. "There" he said "At least I did something. Its someone else's turn to go down there". At that point it becomes a game of dare and double dare, with both of them wondering aloud if I was hurt, but neither child brave enough to find out firsthand. After listening to this discourse for a few minutes, my husband steps up, calls them both wimps and ventures down to the laundry room. All I can say, it was a good job I wasn't injured, because I would have probably bled out by the time anyone came to my aid. Let's just say I won't forget this in a hurry.
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