From Bedroom to Wet Room
My favourite time of the week bar none is breakfast on Saturdays. After a week of doing our own things, work or park, the three of us are reunited and get to hang out and generally get excited about what the next couple of days might have in store for us.
Saturday mornings are also Anna’s chance to have some quality time with Max. This excuses me to pop out all by myself for coffees and newspapers, one of those rituals that used to be a chore in the old days but is now relished. I arrive home weighed down by breakfast goodies, caffeine and reading materials. Hopefully the sun is streaming in through the windows and there is something to set the mood on the I-pod, The Rolling Stones have a good Saturday morning feel to them I think.
Once we’re all settled there is a tussle for the weekend magazine, I’m a sucker for trawling though the magazine and ignoring the actual news. A big pot of crayons and paper is plonked in front of Max in the hope that this will allow us enough time to get the caffeine from A to B without it getting cold.
I never really want these family breakfasts to end, they are the best bits of family life all condensed into a little 30 minute segment. Max is happy to have Mum around, Mum is happy to be around and I am happy to have them both and a coffee and some Mick and a magazine.
But this Saturday morning it all went spectacularly wrong. I was lying in bed, so far so good, watching the pretty shimmering light on the ceiling. It looked a bit like the effect you get when light reflects on water, but of course that would be ridiculous, why would there be any water in our bedroom? Max, who had been enjoying an early morning wrestle, got up to get a book, “water Daddy, water”. No I’m fine thanks son, but very kind of you to offer. He doesn’t normally do that, what’s going on?
Our bathroom and bedroom had evolved into a giant paddling pool. Max made a beeline for his wellies and toy boats, completely oblivious to the world of pain that Mummy and Daddy were in. Turns out our washing machine had decided to call it a day and opted to go out in a big wet, leaky, blaze of glory.
A Saturday morning that should have been whiled away in lazy family fashion was instead spent mopping up copious amounts of water, swearing and shopping for new washing machines. If parenting has taught me anything it’s to roll with the punches and in between all the swearing I did find time to join Max and his toy boats for an impromptu cruise around the bedroom.
What is your favourite family time of the week? Do you have a spare washing machine I could have?