The Weekenders

No, we are not moving in. This is just our overnight stuff!

Like removal men, we enter the room and start visually sizing everything up.

I scratch my head. I imagine the finished product. I look beyond the sloping ceiling eaves. I look beyond the ottoman the size of a small country standly proudly as a feature piece against a wall. I look beyond the matching Laura Ashley curtains and bedspread…

Yes. This can be done.

*clicks fingers and does cocky smug smirk*

“Lets DO THIS Team Smith!”

Alex is looking at a fresh booger plucked from his nose and Ed is chasing the dog…like a dog (tongue out and panting).

Maybe Team Smith is just Hans Solo and her trusty Chewie (Husband. Desperately needs a hair cut).

Ottoman Schmottoman. Shoved into corner and used as a shelf for suitcase. Laura Ashley curtains pushed aside and travel black out blind sucker pads licked  and splatted on to freshly cleaned windows. Laura Ashley bedspread removed and placed up high on wardrobe and away from booger fingers.

Done.

We have come to stay in your house. And we have completly changed it to suit our needs. Isn’t that simply wonderful for you!

I can’t help but worry about staying at someone elses home with the children. Because the above is pretty accurate. And because when you stay at someone elses house your children obtain an extra 10 points on their volume meter, or so it seems. They become so much LOUDER. And someone elses home at night is so much quieter than ours. Hearing the noises through the monitor at night when we stay at someone elses home gives me flashbacks to having a newborn.

*husband turns over in bed and the duvet rustles*

“SHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” I hiss “The children will HEAR YOU!”

*poor husband starts to cough*

“STOP! STOP IT!” more hissing talk.

*he coughs into pillow*

“Mamaaaaa?”

“SHIT! How could you be so selfish?!” as I throw back the duvet and try to put a slight stroppy stomp (not too much) in to walk as I tip toe to where the boys are sleeping.

At home? We would have hacked up lungs like we were old smoking miners. We would even (gasp) flush the loo at night. Babies would have slept like well, babies.

But away from home…babies and children know. It is exciting and new…They are staying in place where there are fun dogs to play with (we don’t have dogs)…they are allowed cakes and biscuits for breakfast and have been made chocolate banana bread for their toast! Why would they sleep? And to be honest, if I were 3, I wouldn’t!

I look in to the little ones eyes. They are gleaming with delight at being in our bed at 6am. His mouth is a pursed bud of smug joy.

“Don’t get too used to this, buddy” I say “Tomorrow you are back to being ferberized”

I try and stare him out.

He wins.

We go downstairs…it is still only 7am. You don’t realise how noisy your brood are until you are at someone elses house who don’t have kids, or have kids yet…we are making actual echos.

We could be an excellent contraceptive for people whose sons and daughters are longingly watching “Skins” and Jessie J on “The Voice”. Parents could hire us out to show them, well, what happens on a weekend after a bottle of wine and a little bit too much Damien Rice.

I could make money from this….

We spend a lot of time staying at other peoples houses because our friends and family are all over the country. We just got back from a brilliant weekend with some mates oop north who are expecting their first baby (ahhhhhhhhhh). As normal, as above, we are awake and downstairs at 7am.

Fab Gav comes downstairs to show us where all the Cheerios and Tea bags are. We have woken them. Shocker. But they don’t care. They don’t care a teeny tiny bit. The house phone rings. It is 7.32am…I start to panic. No one rings at this time. Can only be bad news….Gav answers. Darling BFF upstairs requests an Easter Egg and orange squash be sent upstairs to her. She also tells Gav there are biscuits above the coffee machine. I love her. I love them both. So much.

Because, the thing is, our friends, and our families don’t care a jot if we move the entire furniture in their spare room, clog up their Sky Plus with Peppa Pig episodes, take batteries out of remotes and moving plastic bags out of reach . Relatives and best mates don’t care if you kick all their extenstion leads behind furniture and take the bleach spray out from under the sink. Our family and friends don’t care if we are trying to pacify screaming babies at 3am.

Because they just roll over and stuff a pillow on their head (lucky b*stards).

But I don’t care when people come to our house and do this – they are our guests and must feel welcome welcome welcome! So why would they mind, if I think about it, when we do it to them?

I think the secret is this…always turn up with wine.

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April 2, 2012. Tags: , , . Uncategorized. 5 comments.