Some little mini-bastard that I adore and love and cherish and all that shit has been pulling the clean washing off the clothes line in order to line the sandpit so that their delicate arse doesn't touch the sand. FFS!?
I am never paying attention for long enough, or fully enough, to catch them in the act. FFS!?
My kids are all seasoned liars, adept at telling Mummy what they think she wants to hear. FFS!?
So far it has been blamed on Elmo, Dora, the dinosaurs, the dog over the fence, the capsicums growing in the back yard, and me. Yes, they even tried to pin it on me via a united show of sibling togetherness and some very serious faces. FFS!?
They would be awesome at an intervention. FFS!?
I have had to re-wash SEVEN LOADS of laundry in the past 2 weeks. FFS!?
I hate laundry at the best of times. I hate it harder when it's unnecessary. FFS!?
I have taken to springing out of my chair like an unco-ordinated ninja, attempting to catch them out. I'm expecting to pull a hamstring any minute. FFS!?
I am always too early, thus alerting them to my plans to catch them in the act. FFS!?
Or too late, and they're already standing and sitting on their father's work shirts, their school uniforms, my jeans. FFS!?
Or, lately, wearing my bra as a head piece. FFS!?
I am now sensing sand everywhere. When I'm in bed. At work. When I'm out. Everywhere. FFS!?
I'm convinced I've failed to rinse it all out. Even though I can't find any when I go nuts and strip off (always in private, like the other day when I ditched my half-full shopping trolley to dash to the shopping centre toilet and remove my shirt to inspect for the sand granules I was certain were in there. They were not). I am yet to find a single grain of sand. FFS!?
It is safe to say that I have developed a severe paranoia. FFS!?
It is also safe to say that the sandpit will be emptied for the coming winter months. No FFS!?
It is a dead certainty to say that I will be eliciting niceness and housework over the coming winter months in return for a fully stocked sand pit when the warmer months return later this year. No FFS!?
I am a mere Ebay search away from buying a spy camera and setting it up in the pot plant opposite the clothes line, just to catch the culprit/s in the act so that I can name and shame and laud it over them. FFS!?
This. Is. War.