I eventually got up and made some filter coffee and quietly paid some bills online. Bleh.
The Husband finally roused himself and rustled up some bacon and eggs and we sat and ate breakfast at the table while enjoying the bright winter sunshine streaming into the lounge.
Later the Darling Husband called me outside to check out if some of the paints he'd dug out were suitable for my latest project (gutting our cave of a bathroom, well at least just painting it and sprucing it up a little).
Even though I may aspire to being Super Mom regrettably I do not have super vision and actually need to read labels to discover what the tin may hold. In order to do this I tilted the paint tin ever so slightly, confident that the lid was securely fitted.
Obviously I was wrong (a rare occasion) as the Husband tried to alert me to impending chaos and tried to right the can before half its contents dribbled out on to the driveway tarmac. But not fast enough to prevent a litre from splattering onto my 2 delinquent dogs' heads who, as always, have to feel they are included in every movement we make, and were standing on my feet and, as it were, below the full paint tin being swung around by me.
This resulted in the Jackson Pollock look...
Of course we couldn't leave them looking like this with paint stiffened fur so I filled a bucket with warm water and lugged the dog shampoo outside onto the freshly mown lawn. The Boy, spying a potentially delightful wet and soggy play opportunity raced over to "help Mama".
Coaxing the dogs toward me was not working too well - imagine that - so running after them and dragging them back to the Evil Bucket Of Clean Water proved to be quite an energetic exercise in itself. I had a big cup that I filled with the warm water and poured over them, one at a time. The Boy offered to pour the raspberry coloured shampoo into my hand. The volume he poured could have washed 20 great Danes but he was happy to keep helping. Luckily the paint was water-based and washed out easily. The lawn still has white smears of paint where the dogs went and rolled before having their spa treatments.
Sucker for punishment, I got hold of our third dog, a little Jack Russell and plonked her in the bucket and washed her too. She thanked me by going to roll in the sand.
Meanwhile, the Husband's brother J has poked his head over the wall and asked if he can bring his car for a interior valet (part of the Husband's cleaning services business). While observing our jolly dog washing capers he may have got an inkling into our circus-like Griswald home life. He was very quiet. Or disturbed. Who knows.
To top the shenanigans, the Boy is quietly discovered dropping stones into the Husband's industrial vacuum cleaner's motor. Hiroshima had competition with the Husband's nuclear reaction to this act of potential disastrous sabotage. (Its happened once before resulting in expensive repair costs).
Dragging the Boy out of harm's way we decided to visit Ouma next door, who was cranking out her Solid Gold vinyl tunes, and bug her entertain her with The Boy's enthusiastic musical ability.
I think the piano's keys are all still intact.
Just another Griswald morning at home :)
