This was the First Official Outing of the Summer Holidays, which meant many things had to be located which had not been seen since last summer, including, but not limited to, sun hats, picnic blankets, fishing rods and nets and my totes fucking adorable hamper.
Much swearing, sweating and stamping around in the attic, a large and cavernous space with only two temperature settings ('colder than a witch's tit' and 'hotter than fucking hell'), finally yielded the picnic blanket, the pink and blue fishing nets (gender stereotyping? Moi? Yeah, whatever), and the recollection that the totes fucking adorable hamper's handle had broken at the end of last summer when I violently swung it at the DC in a fit of fury because he had questioned whether I 'really needed' to take it with me on an adventure. I had shoved it in the attic in the hope that it would magically mend itself over the winter. It didn't. You just can't get the fucking elves these days.
Down from the attic I commenced stamping round the garage and shed in search of the many other missing lovelinesses, whilst bellowing at children to locate sun hats; apply sunscreen; stop fighting; leave the dog alone; put pants on; put clean pants on; don't put pants on the bloody dog etc.
With everything finally located and assembled, including charcoal, fire lighters, matches, tongs and the ingredients for a delicious barbecue, I paused, puce and perspiring, beside my giant pile of necessities, to survey my offspring. The cherubs, whose only task had been to find their hats and put on some sunscreen, and not kill each other.
"Where are your hats?"
Saff launched into a long and convoluted explanation about why she couldn't wear/ didn't need/ had her human rights breached by a hat, which caused me to lose the will to live half way through and start sobbing in defeat. I attempted to disguise being bested by Saff, by turning my attentions to the Beast:
"Well, where is your hat?"
"Lost"
I took a deep, calming breath. I resolved as I took the deep and calming breath that it would not go the way of so many other deep and calming breaths and be used to power an infuriated bellow.
"Darling. It can't be 'lost'. Mummy put it in your drawer with the rest of your summer clothes. Go and look properly."
"Nah. S'no point. S'lost."
Deeper breath. "Darling. Go and look for your hat right now before Mummy gets cross."
"I told you, it's LOST!"
"GOANDLOOKFORYOURFUCKINGHATRIGHTNOWYOULITTLESHIT!(deep breath)IHAVESPENTALLMORNINGGETTINGALLTHISREADYFORYOUANDALLYOUHADTODOWAS (deep breath) FINDYOURFUCKINGHAT!!"
The Beast looked back at me with an expression of wounded innocence and injustice.
"I have looked Mummy. I really really have. But I can't find it. I think it's been eaten by the Sock Swamp."
Argh. My heart sank. My son's natural habitat is best described as 'squalor'. At the best of times, even the kindest description of his bedroom would include the word 'fetid'; a bubbling morass of Lego, loom bands, dubious pants and solitary socks.
Recently however, a combination of his general foulness and my general indolence have led to a worsening of conditions. With the whole end of term madness upon me, I was unable to face sifting through the piles of Lego, Pokémon, Moshi Monsters and dirty clothes to bring any sort of order to bear on the room, and he couldn't care less. Thus, I closed the door and allowed him to go feral behind it.
The result of this was The Sock Swamp. Eventually, the room descended into a state even the Beast found slightly daunting. His solution was not to tidy up however, but to simply declare the further half of the room dead to him, and to kick all unwanted items down to that end and insist he just wasn't going there any more. This is now The Sock Swamp. I'm pretty sure there's things growing in there. I've heard Noises.
Faced with the choice of a hatless child or investigating the nether depths of The Sock Swamp, it was a no brainer:
"Get in the car darlings! Who needs hats!"
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