Today started and ended with a meeting of minds. The minds in question being the boy and Oscar the cat.
Normally they move carefully around each other like a finely poised chess match. They are totally aware of each other and love each other dearly. Well as much as I can tell. One's 17 months old and thinks everything is a fire engine and ones a cat but a mother knows these things..
However, as today began and ended, events made them inter-link in very bizarre ways!
The boy woke up at 5 am this morning and has been full on all day. By 6 am we'd given up trying to persuade him to stay in his cot by placating him with, milk, muzzies and books and had brought him downstairs. I have an unwritten rule that if Cbeebies hasn't started yet then it's too early to be up!
Hubby carried the boy downstairs then he let him go into the lounge. The boy started to whinge and ran into the kitchen pointing back towards the living room.
"What's wrong with him?" asked hubby as he put the kettle on.
I was padding down the stairs at this point as bleary eyed and annoyed at being up this early as hubby.
"He probably wants the TV on." I huffed, exasperated that my son has an ever growing Cbeebies habit.
The boy by this time was screaming. Not what you need at 6 in the morning.
I made my way into the lounge. The boy was pointing at the sofa which was covered in cat sick and exclaiming
"Oh No!" as he pointed determinedly at the horrible mess.
Poor Oscar hasn't been too well recently. He hates the humid weather and gets terrible fur balls.
"I know what it is babe. The sofa's covered in sick!" I explain as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Bless the boy for trying to let us know something was amiss and thank god he didn't do what he normally does. Jump up onto the settee with milk cup in hand and bounce around! The consequences are too dire to imagine. I grabbed him by the hand and gave him a good wash just in case he had touched it, but mercifully I'm pretty sure he hadn't.
With that all sorted we move to the end of the day and bath time. Our bathroom is downstairs and right by our back door where we keep Oscar's food and water bowls.
I'd run the boy's bath as hubby was getting the washing in from the garden. Ah Sunday night domestic bliss. I'd got the Top 40 on the radio, primarily for nostalgia purposes as I always had my Sunday night bath, ready for school on Monday, listening to the charts (and before you say anything it was the charts then and not the hit parade, I'm not that bloody old). I also have it on in the vain hope of keeping up to date with today's music and that I might have actually heard of someone! I rarely have!
The boy was about to join me in the bathroom when he took a sharp left and headed outside for the garden to see Daddy.
A quick jaunt up the garden (and next doors garden) later he came back inside with his Dad.
"Come on, you're bath will be getting cold" I called.
I must have only turned away a second, to check the temperature was still ok, when the boy ran into the bathroom with something concealed in his tight fist and threw it into the water.
"Oh my god he's thrown cat biscuits in the bath now!"
"Well fish them out!" joked Hubby helpfully.
I normally enjoy a good pun but tonight I wasn't in the mood as I scooped up the soggy treats and plopped them in the bin.
Am I bad mother for not re-running the bath?
Three second rule and all that!
And at least I didn't let my son roll around in cat vomit!