The Great Flood

If it weren't for that mass of curly blonde locks, I could probably learn to discipline her. There is something so full of joy in the way she trashes everything we own. There is not a spiteful or malicious bone in her body.

I would be a rich woman indeed if I had a pound for every time I said "No! - Don't touch ... dirty/hot/dangerous/hurt the baby etc" She has absolutely no fear, and can't understand why I make such a fuss.

My father-in-law reminded me of a recent occasion we call "The Great Flood". She was supposedly brushing her teeth and I nipped out of the bathroom to attend to some minor but very quick job. I heard the characteristic gushing of water and called out the usual warning "Turn it down Dais ... not so much water" I came back into the bathroom within minutes and let out an involuntary scream as I watched the water flooding over the edge of the sink onto an already soaked bathroom carpet. I knew it was bad, as the carpet is usually cream and already it was a dirty beige from all that water. Instead of bursting into tears or jumping out of her skin at my outburst she just calmly looked around and said "Whatta matter wid you?"

Daddy and sister were down in the kitchen with bowls under each of the dripping light fittings, wildly mopping the skating rink that once was our laminate flooring whilst I was on my hands and knees pressing every clean towel we possess into the squidgy carpet and where was Dais? Jumping on my bed - of course!