Men At Work

I write this quickly now prior to fleeing with the Noodle (as soon as he wakes) to the relative sanctuary of my Dad's house before Knickers returns from a pre-baby girls' weekend away.

She has only been gone since yesterday afternoon but the house is already a disaster. Dirty mugs are scattered throughout the house. They sit piled up with tools, DVDs, volumes of poetry, novels, graphic novels, text-books, dirty dishes, dirty washing and clean washing. The Noodle has gotten into the whole while the cat's away spirit and added scatterings of picture books, bottles, bibs and boots. The hounds have been allowed up on the, normally, verboten couch and contributed the lion's share of fur (that is, enough to make a lion out of) which must now be thoroughly vacuumed.

It's not that I haven't been cleaning, its just that I've started seventeen different projects and completed none. The beginning stage of most projects involve getting everything out and ready, having a cuppa and slice of toast to consider where to begin, deciding it's all too hard and moving on to something else. Of course before commencing the next I would need a palate cleansing romp with the Noodle or lie down with a book, depending on his desire and/or availability.

One of the tasks, assigned by Knickers prior to her departure, is to assemble the new linen cupboard. She is deep in a very large nesting frenzy. Larger than the house actually. This is causing me all sorts of headaches as I try to explain that we don't live in the Tardis and I 'cannae change the laws o' physics.'

Knickers despises science fiction and is suitably unmoved by my protestations.

So, back to our new and expensive linen cupboard. The Noodle and I put the frame together, realised the shelves were on backwards and took it apart. Back together again and decided it would be more stable with the top shelf a bit higher. Took it apart again. Adjusted. Reassembled. Nailed on the thin backing. Refer photo below.
I'm now in a bit of a bind. Sure I can blame the Noodle. After all he did bang a few nails in. I just don't think admitting I let our nearly two year old son let fly with a hammer, in the close confines of the house, is the best strategy to deflect attention away from the topic of my irresponsibility.
It would explain the dents and chips caused by some of his wilder swings. Again though, Knickers is much more likely to dock my pocket money rather than his. Oh for a baby face, what havoc I could wreak!

No. Best to keep shtum while she gets over the initial outrage and be convicted of incompetence rather than incompetence and irresponsibility.

Now I just have to convince the Noodle not to walk around saying, 'Noodle hammer. Very helpful.'