Truffles as bribes, bad parenting & the disaster storage cupboard

A while ago Edie and I had cause to sit on the comfy plastic chairs of the RPA Emergency Department after her eye socket came into close contact with the solid edge of the pot plant. She quickly ruled out a concussion by explaining the incident to the Doctor and then politely declining her offer of help to stop the blood from pouring down her face. It was our second trip to RPA in reasonably quick succession, so I was grilled a bit (‘how did this occur without the attending adult noticing?’) and later informed by friends that after the third visit they start a DOCS file on you.

This is unfortunate because Edie stacks it multiple times a day as a result of moving too fast/doing things above her skill level/being an eye watering mix of obstinate and adventurous. Even worse, it’s her head that often breaks the fall. If it were a limb for example, I’d be more cavalier, but gaping wounds and technicolour bruising to the eyes and head tend to spark the nerves even in me, who spends a lot of her time parenting with the phrase; ‘knock it off, you’ll be right.’

Whilst we were there, awaiting the arrival of two nurses to help me hold Edie down while the Doctor sutured her wound, I noticed the labelling of one cupboard in particular – The Disaster Storage Cupboard – and I thought, couldn’t we all do with one of those? Or multiples of those really, because the stuff you’d store in the Disaster Storage Cupboard for Parenting, would be completely different to the stuff you’d store in the Disaster Storage Cupboard for Hartsyard.

The former would contain treats, (organic, all natural, gluten free, zero sugar – and fun – of course) a change of outfit for everyone – maybe two for the parent, a little pot for making coffee, Uno and pick up sticks.

The one for Hartsyard would need a dishwasher to replace the one that always breaks at 5pm on a Friday night, a case of sparkling water for when the gas blows up usually halfway through service and all over an unsuspecting server, truffles in case a reviewer walks in and we grate them over a dish – any dish – just to try and curry favour (kidding) and enough money for the post-service kebab and Turkish pizza order from Saray.

Both of them would also contain a good loaf of sourdough, real butter, a block of cheese and a jar of vegemite for me, because really, that is all I need to happily stay alive.

If Gregory and I were to design our own Disaster Storage Cupboards, it might highlight just now differently we approach some facets of our life together. Mine would contain sneakers, his would have 3 Big Macs. Mine would have Soap for Sensitive Skin, his would hold that Mint Sauce Shower Gel that causes him to give a little yelp every morning when he’s cleaning his nether regions. I’d have slippers, he’d have a three quarter shirt he’s been wearing since before we met. Mine would hold the Harry Potter Series and this year’s collection of entirely unread Harvard Business Reviews, (I’m hoping I gather some knowledge via osmosis while I sleep with them stacked by my head each night), his would be weighted down by several of his latest favourite cookbooks that he’s already read cover-to-cover anyway. I’m sure you could conduct a study into these choices and come out with an algorithm for the future and lasting success of our marriage.

But maybe I’m looking at this the wrong way around. Maybe it’s not meant to be an anticipatory measure at all. Maybe when disasters strike, you’re meant to just haul them into the cupboard and store them there.

Yes, that’s it! Don’t let mayhem and chaos spoil your delicious piece of sourdough, instead, just shove them into a cupboard and turn the key in the lock.

Problem solved.

Disaster averted.

Have a great weekend everyone.

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