The Clifford Calpolgate Diaries - Part 2
No, it's my Kevin, attractively dressed in blue Umbro shorts and white sport socks pulled up way above his ankles (what's happened to him lately?) making his way Tom Cruise-style across Joe's bedroom floor. You know, like the scene in Mission: Impossible when Tom's suspended from the ceiling, dodging all those lasers.
Well, Kevin isn't quite suspended from the ceiling. But he is dodging every single creaky inch of the floorboards by using this new method of the human crab meets Tom Cruise on a bad day.
We have an old house with lots of creaky floorboards. And you can bet that whenever Kevin or I try to sneak off after putting Joe down to sleep, we are bound to tread on the creakiest floorboard, and with that creak you're back to square one.
Bless Kev's sporty cotton socks. I am, at this point, witnessing this secretly from behind the doorframe. I managed to sneak upstairs and professionally dodge the creaks to grab my copy of Red magazine, hopefully unheard, as I'd made such a fuss earlier.
"Can you please put Joe down tonight, babe," I'd said to Kev, "the house looks like a Chinese laundry and I have got to spend at least an hour cleaning scribble off the bath panel."
To be fair, I did have scribble cleaning to do after Joe's several attempts earlier to become Mister Maker's apprentice while I was on the toilet and he was just out of reach. As always, my "visit" to the bathroom was cut short. I had to dive off the toilet and reprimand Joe.
I long for the day when I can visit the loo in peace, without fear of the toilet being flushed while I'm finishing my business (my business trips always have to be short), or the toothpaste being squeezed into the bath. Some husbands, meanwhile, have the luxury of taking a Sudoku puzzle book into the bathroom with them (my fault - bad stocking filler idea). Or even my latest, most cherished, and un-read copy of Red (big mistake - you never, ever read someone's magazine until they have read it).
I remember when Joe was only a few weeks old. I had waited all day to read Heat, hoping to catch up on a bit of celeb goss (those days of being in the groove are long gone). I'd not had a chance all day.
And then Kevin strolled through the door with that, "What's for dinner?" look. He picked up Heat and disappeared into the bathroom for what seemed like an hour.
I was outraged, with added hormone imbalance thrown in for good measure. The air was frosty that evening and it was beans on toast for dinner.
After watching Kevin doing his Tom Cruise thing for a moment, I sneak back downstairs with Red. I settle down, and open the magazine. I can hear Kevin at the gate. He's made it. He's avoided those creaking floorboards. He hurdles the stair gate. And then I hear: "Elmo loves you so, so much, yes he does, yes he does. Elmo loves you so, so much. Please hug Elmo." Kev's trodden on Joe's talking/singing Elmo, a Christmas present we had searched high and low for. The toy was hiding by the stair gate. I fear for Elmo's safety, now. And then Joe wakes up.
Time for my exit. I can't save Elmo. I grab Red and disappear to the loo. I'm going to be at least and hour. I might even take up Sudoku.
Katie Clifford is married to her childhood sweetheart, Kevin, they live in Hurst Green, East Sussex. Apart from being a mum, Katie writes and is also working on various other creative ventures. You can read her blog at www.thecalpolgatediaries.wordpress.com
Written for Spring 2009 issue by Katie Clifford
© Katie Clifford 25/01/2009
