Alternatively grammaticised titles:
Box construction, bitch
Box construction, bitch!
Box. Construction. BITCH.
The other week, Miss7 volunteered me to help with a class box construction morning without checking with me first. FFS!?
No chance to whip out one of my totally believable excuses to get out of it. FFS!?
Her class have been studying "the olden days" - I know this, because weeks ago she started quizzing me on what it was like in the olden days. FFS!?
Did I have a toilet?
Did I have TV?
Little mini mofo, Mummy is not that bloody old. FFS!?
So yesterday I dragged my feet into class to do my parental duty. Late. Naturally.
Miss7 had a floor plan of her ye olde worlde house, and we had to recreate it with all the empty boxes and crap that parents have gleefully rid themselves of in the name of learning and craft and shit.
Most kids set about creating a few rooms in a shoe box.
Not my kid.
Miss7 had a 2 storey design. FFS!?
With an indoor pool. FFS!?
I shit you not....
Apparently my kid was from the filthy rich side of the tracks, way back when.
She has 3 bedrooms each with fire places upstairs - "and big beds Mum, not little ones."
There is a dining room, a kitchen, and the indoor pool downstairs.
Too bad if anyone wanted to shit or shower, right?
It took me half the allocated class time to McGyver into place the second floor, via twine, crap kiddy paste that does not work like glue, I don't care what anybody says, and muttered 'shed words'. FFS?
As I created her structurally unsound mansion of yesteryear, she fluffed around the room chatting to her mates, absentmindedly rolling paydoh into balls. FFS!?
When she did come to check on my progress, she reluctantly placed playdoh at random points inside her house, thus shitting me to tears that she was ruining my creation. FFS!?
Seriously, even in 'the olden days', a ball of playdoh does not an 8 seater dining table make, am I right? FFS!?
I have hated box construction since forever. As documented when Miss7 was a Miss4 bringing home layers of cereal containers stuck together with tape and spit, and I had to participate in rounds of 20 questions in an attempt to work out what each creation was meant to be. FFS!?
This was like my worst nightmare. FFS!?
And now I have to sit and wait for it to come home when the school term ends in a week. FFS!?
And then I'll have to find a place for it to sit so that I can admire it. FFS!?
Until Miss7's distracted and I can commence slowly relocating it to the ye modern worlde waste receptical.
And also, I have made a mental note to make #1Hubby go in when the twins hit year 2 and it's there turn.