He’s three, so he still sits down to pee, and yet somehow the brush still managed to slip through the infinitesimal gap created between the back of the toilet seat and his miniature scale bottom. The lack of coordination this requires is a sheer masterstroke that only I could manage.
To add insult to injury, this isn’t just your average Lady Jane pink plastic supermarket hairbrush we’re talking about either, it was ceramic! Vented! Radial! With patented, hairdresser approved, maxi barrel technology. The kind of brush that turns a girl from Billy Ray Cyrus to Beyoncé with one deft flick of the wrist.
And now it’s covered in wee.
Oh, my achey breaky part.
I fished it out with a pair of tongs while my son questioned me mercilessly about how he had managed to wee out a hairbrush when he hadn’t even had a hairbrush to drink that day.
This is not the first, nor will it be the last stupid thing I do. I’m actually pretty awesome at doing stupid shit. And every stupid thing I do, I blame on exhaustion. Because. Children. Three of them. All under the age of four.
Now I’m going to be honest and say my sleep deprivation has very little to do with my children (although admittedly they do contribute a bit) and more to do with my own brain and its irrational fear of dying in my sleep. And also my general need to think about important things at bed time instead of going to sleep, like what will happen to the earth if ants become extinct. And, you know, checking facebook.
The truth is (just between you, me and the entire interwebs) I’m starting to wonder if it’s not in fact sleep deprivation that’s to blame here but rather that I just have a predisposition for doing stupid shit.
Case in point. We have a soda stream (because I’m cosmopolitan and like my water with bubbles thankyah very mahhhhch) and for the first… Oh I don’t know…SIX MONTHS that we owned it, every single time I used it, I would flick the switch on the power point behind the unit assuming that the soda stream required electricity to fizz.
Nevermind that there was no power cord actually plugged into the outlet.
Nevermind that there was no power cord attached to the soda stream itself.
Nevermind that there was never any suggestion by anyone, any set of instructions, nor label on the box, to indicate that I needed to plug it in.
Sometimes, if there was a stray kettle or toaster plug in the vicinity of the machine, I would even plug that in to the power point to aid in the “switching on” of the soda stream.
It was literally only when my husband said “Liv… You do know you don’t have to plug in the soda stream don’t you?” that it dawned on me that I was being an actual dumbass.
That’s probably like 600 seconds of my life I wasted in those months switching on (and off…did I mention off?) the soda stream at the wall. I don’t have time for that shit! And even after I was told I didn’t need to do it, I still caught myself almost “switching it on” on occasion. Yep. There’s a lunchbox short of some sandwiches somewhere with my name it.
So, how is an (allegedly) intelligent person like my fine self so damn stupid sometimes?
Sleep deprivation. That’s how.
At least that’s what I might have people believe.
When the twins were newborns, I stubbornly refused to show weakness. The term ‘tired’ was like the word Voldemort in our household. Now I’m three and a half years wiser (and three and a half years more tired) and with another baby under my slightly loosened belt, I wheel out tired like it’s my own name. “I’m tired” is like my go to excuse for pretty much everything.
Look ugly. I’m tired.
Wearing pants inside out. I didn’t get much sleep last night.
Irrationally yelling at someone for no good reason. I’m just worn out, OK?
Cried during Bondi Rescue. I’m so drained.
Wipe daughters bottom with bathroom hand towel instead of toilet paper. I’m totally exhausted.
Plus the old faithful weetbix box in the fridge, milk in the cupboard, sunglasses lost for six months in own handbag and absent minded “I love you” to the postman type of events.
The thing is I’m really bad at relaxation. I tried meditation once and we were mid-HUMMMMMM SAHHHHHHH and supposed to be imagining ourselves in a happy place…so in my head I was on the couch in front of the TV watching The Bachelor – because happiness is watching 25 women bring pride on their families by competing for the love of one man. And then the meditation instructor mentioned feeling the sunshine on ones face. So, while everyone else is letting the light wash over them like rays on the waves that calm their minds, there I am trying to figure out the logistics of installing a velux roof window in the living room so the sun can actually get to me in my happy place.
The long and short of it is, relaxation is just not my strong suit. It doesn’t help that I can’t have a bath without having floaty sea animals stuck to my leg, and feeling like I’m soaking in fifty shades of grey water.
So whilst an over active brain and inability to relax might be more legitimate causes of my own stupidity (or just, you know, general, plain, there-you-have-it, honest to god, actual stupidity) sleep deprivation is my scapegoat. Because it sounds legit. People buy it and sometimes even offer me some consolation with my coffee.
And here’s the thing. This morning as I was drying my hair I realised I never actually did WASH the wee soaked hair brush. I just left it in the bathroom sink and forgot about it. Because; exhaustion.
And, well you wouldn’t read about it. Sure as shit, today my hair is as shiny as I’ve ever seen it!