Hiding Places

Typically the boys are not good at finding stuff.  Things like schoolbags, coats, socks, shoes, toys, juice bottles and favourite story books.  Because these objects are inanimate and do not jump up and down screeching “yoo hoo! Over here!  Here I am!”

I have discovered when they burst into a room and they don’t immediately see what they are looking for, they will turn on their heel and leave.    

So, when they barge into the bedroom and are not expecting to see me crouched down behind the laundry basket, say, they will run back out again shouting “Maa-mee!  Where are you?”

It’s a good hiding place, down on the floor behind the laundry basket. 

I have also stood in the space under the stairs.  There are enough coats hanging up there to provide temporary refuge.  This one works particularly well in winter as it’s darker then.

And the other night whilst the fruits of my withered loins were playing abattoirs, I grabbed my book and went upstairs to the bathroom.

It didn’t take long for them to thunder up the stairs after me, sounding not unlike a small herd of elephants.

As expected, one of them burst into the bathroom, halfway through the word “maaaameeeee,” as he went. 

I cut him off by putting the book up to my face and said the first thing that came into my head, “I’m not your mammy.  I’m your aunty Gail.”

Silence for a brief moment and then footsteps as he ran out.

Then I heard it.

“Guess who’s in our bathroom?  Go on!  Guess!  It’s Aunty Gail.  Aunty Gail is sitting on our toilet reading one of mammy’s books!”

Sorry Aunty Gail.