Monday, 10 June 2013

Carpet Caper

Sometimes I lose my shit. I hold everything in, the tension builds, a few swear words start coming out here and there and soon those little falling pebbles turn into an avalanche of cursing and stomping. I'm not mature about my tantrums at all. There's a lot of whining and bitching.

Other times I lose my shit and I suddenly find myself having strength I never knew I had, a wave of crazy comes over me and the house is turned upside down, the furniture moved and every crevice and crack has been scrubbed until it shines. One time I lost it spectacularly. I call it "The Carpet Caper."

Nate had a lot of trouble toilet training but lucky me, he hated clothes too. Nappies caused headache inducing meltdowns and five minutes later he had the nappy off and was back to starkers. Strangely Nate became night trained before day trained, so thankfully at night he didn't need them. During the day however, Nate ran about nude. Rain, hail or shine, Nate strutted his stuff like nobody’s business. As cute as his little body was, I was sick of looking at penis all day long. He pissed on the carpet so often that sometimes I considered putting down plastic matting. It didn't matter how often we had them cleaned they still smelt of urine.
He’d be dancing to The Wiggles, wee then keep on dancing. I kept the potty in the lounge trying to stop him but nothing did. This wasn't a toilet training stage that lasted a couple of months. This lasted years.

I’m a crazy bitch and once upon a time, in a lovely little house in the distant past, I liked everything to be immaculate and clean and everything in the right place. That house no longer exists no matter how many times I whinge or call the place “a fucking pig sty.” The carpet started smelling up the house but we couldn't replace it because we had no money. We were stuck with it.

Until I lost my shit… It was a sunny Saturday, the kids were playing. Nate was naked of course. Andre went for a shower and I pottered about in a futile attempt to tidy behind the children. Nate paused, did a wee on my now sodden carpet and carried on. I grabbed the towel and went to start the clean-up process when something inside me just kind of snapped. You hear about people finally losing the plot, but when it happens it is sort of liberating. With a surge of power, I moved every single piece of my furniture out of my lounge room and started to roll up the carpet. By the time Andre came out of the bathroom he faced a wild eyed, sweaty woman covered in dust.
“I can’t live like this anymore! The house stinks, the carpet is going!” By the end of that sentence I was screeching like a prized cockatoo.

Andre gives the appearance to a lot of people that he is a patient man, but he's not. He ranted for a little while about tackling my stress in more effective ways and blah blah blah. Finally he calmed down, pinched his brow, and sighed a long, tortured sigh. “What are we replacing it with?”
“I’m going to paint the floor. It can be done. I've googled it.” I continued to roll the carpet into a very loose cylinder.
“Why don’t you ever wait for me with these things? Where are we getting money for paint?”
I shrugged, and after much groaning, swearing and muttering under his breath he helped me remove the carpet and underlay. 

We ventured down to Lincoln and I decided to paint the whole lounge room too. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I chose grey. Not a nice light grey that gives the soul a bit of hope that rainy days are leaving. This grey bordered on black. The walls were grey, the floor was grey and all the trim was in fuck off white. It was blinding against the dark of the room. The room was like a dementor. It sucked all happiness from your soul as you stepped through the door. It did however stop Nate from weeing on the floor, because not even he would go in there. It became affectionately known as the Beetlejuice room because it looked like Otho had done the decorating. See below.

I stopped watching TV, the kids would watch an occasional DVD in my room but the lounge had become this empty, dark, cold room.
Andre didn't even say “I told you so,” or anything. That’s why I married him. He’s the only person who puts up with the crazy; most likely because he has plenty of crazy to give in return.

Three months later (three days before Christmas) we repainted (I lost my shit again) but we were stuck with the floor for another year and a half. It was horrible to clean and Nate preferred a much less splashy place to urinate. Enter his bedroom.

Nate is now toilet trained, thank god. But sometimes I still lose my shit. I figure if it stays to insane cleaning frenzies and flashes of home decorating it has to be better than going to an asylum.