Paranoia and other pleasant things

The mother of all mommy posts

Timi. My daughter, Timi. You know, my sweet, angelic bundle of goodness? Well, you might want to rethink her description.

We left her alone for 10 friggin’ minutes - I had to check something up on the computer and Robi went to the bedroom for who knows what. Out of the bedroom he came, taken by the nose to search for the source of a devilish stench that was taking over our little home. A mere two seconds later, an angry shout was heard. “For the love of God! How could you!”. Was that my quiet husband? Was he unpleased by something I did or didn’t do? Colour me confused, for I didn’t know.

Into the living room I went, only to find a scene I hoped I’ll never see : Timi was standing naked on the carpet, sobbing with Robi looking to her like to a persistent flea (and he’s allergic to those, thankyouverymuch). But that wasn’t all, for there was the SMELL. A rotting outhouse in mid August would match it closely. I looked around and I saw … shit. Yes, take that in it’s literal meaning. Small drops of poop on the couch, on carpet, on an Avon lady’s face and on my favourite chair. Damn, she was quick (and coordonated, since she used the perfect window of opportunity for the mischevious deed).

Some lecturing and sobbing later, she was in bed, no kissing rituals done on her. We scrubbed and washed until all evidence of the crime was gone. The smell went away too after the window was left open long enough.

Around midnight, I couldn’t take the lack of kisses anymore. I went to her room and smooched her tummy and hair to my heart’s content. She woke up and gave me kisses back. Robi came to the room soon and kissed her until his crave was also fulfilled. We went to bed after that. All was well in the world again.

Posted under: Timi