If you’ve been reading my blog for a while, you’ll know that my daughter has a habit of getting herself into interesting situations.
Take this weekend just gone for instance. It’s been a long time since we’ve been away together as a family, so we were thrilled when our friends paid for us to fly to Auckland to celebrate my upcoming nineteenth twenty-first birthday. It’s okay, I’ll wait a moment while you work that one out.
Now it’s been a few years since our friends have had young children staying in their house, so they’re not used to keeping some stuff out of reach. They had borrowed some age appropriate toys for my two to play with, and my kids were suitably awestruck at being in a new environment that they were on their best behaviour for a change. Nevertheless, when I suddenly realised all had been quiet for a while, I went to investigate. Heading into the hallway I heard a sad little voice calling from a bedroom, ”help, I’m stuck,” with heart wrenching little sobs. Much to her dismay, instead of helping her, I promptly grabbed my camera and called out for everyone else in the house to come and look. I imagine that will make me a top contender for the Mother-of-the-year Competition for the second year in a row.
I’m just grateful that this was the only ‘special toy’ she managed to get her hands on/in. Let’s hope this is the first and last time my child ever ends up in fur-lined handcuffs, or any type of handcuffs for that matter.