If there’s one thing Flea and I can fall out over, it’s mess.
My daughter is a mess-producing machine. Everywhere she goes, she casts off small items. And soon the house is a trail of detritus – gaming cards, books, comics, soft toys, small dogs, swords…
We did recently create a playroom in the loft of the house which I think pretty much saved my sanity. Although, it has to be said that Flea turned the playroom from a Zen space of calm and tranquility into a palace of Playmobil and Potter within the space of a week.
And, as I think has been proven on this blog before, I like me a bit of order and tidiness. Yes, I organise my mug cupboard. So, sue me.
But if it’s in the playroom, I don’t see it.
So I don’t care.
Despite having the world’s biggest playroom, Flea still feels the need to mark her territory elsewhere. Which is why, this evening, I spent 20 minutes collecting books and comics and piling them up on the stairs. When Flea got home from school, I went into reasonable parent mode:
“Flea, before you start playing, I want you to take those books on the stairs up to your room.”
Two minutes later I was carrying a pile of laundry up the stairs and almost broke my neck on the big Harry Potter book we picked up on our visit to the Warner Bros Studio tour last month.
“Flea, didn’t I ask you to take the books upstairs?” I said, through gritted teeth. “Why did you leave one?”
“Well, Mummy, I thought that was a bit more like a pamphlet, so it didn’t seem appropriate to take it,” Flea replied.
And this, friends, is what happens when the father of your child is a programmer. LOGIC. Always with the sodding logic.