Monsters At Home: Widowed Socks and Orphan Pens

There are monsters at home in my house. I’m sure of it. I’ve never actually seen one…but the evidence speaks for itself. I have my suspicions as to where they lurk, but despite my best efforts, they remain elusive. Widowed socks and orphan pens speak volumes about their activities, however.

THE SOCK MONSTER

My pile of widowed socks is growing. They go into the wash as a happily matched pair…and somewhere between there and the mountain of clean washing on the spare bed, the monster strikes. When all the washing is folded and put away, all that’s left is the Lonely Sock Club. Occasionally there is a joyful reunion as a missing sock comes home to its mate, but for the rest, there is just a baffling mystery. All I can say is that there are monsters at home.

THE PEN MONSTER

Then there is the steadily vanishing supply of pens. The pen caddy beside the phone gets more and more empty, until just one remains – the one that doesn’t work too well. (Or the one with the feathers on top. No one takes it seriously). This poor crippled orphan (or social misfit) is the sole survivor of a Pen Monster raid.

THE CLOTHES PEG MONSTER

Then there is the Clothes Peg Monster. This one is so stealthy that I don’t notice its activities right away. Then suddenly, I realize that my peg supply is significantly depleted, and all the pretty (and most functional) ones have vanished. What I’m left with are all the old rusty and broken ones – geriatric old things that really should be given an honourable retirement. Oh yes, there are definitely monsters at home. It’s the only explanation.

CATCHING MONSTERS AT HOME

I’ve almost caught the Pen Monster, on more than one occasion. Once, I went to my husband’s bedside table, to get something he’d asked for. I had to rummage through the drawer to find it. I lifted a piece of paper…and discovered the Pen Monster’s lair. There was the evidence, in front of my eyes. Seventeen pens. Various shapes and colours, all just waiting to be rescued. It was a happy moment.

On another occasion, we were down to the one lonely orphaned pen again, when I happened to move my son’s homework off the recliner. I pulled it out, looking for something – and discovered another Pen Monster nest. Thirteen pens this time. It was another joyous moment as the victims were rescued.

The Peg Monster isn’t always one of the monsters at home. It resides in some bizarre places. I took a walk into the bush near our house one day, and stumbled upon a Satin Bowerbird’s bower. Full of blue flowers and berries. A blue plastic straw. Several snail shells. And three blue pegs. (I left them there!).

The other likely lurking spot of the Peg Monster is on the front of the kids’s scooters. Somehow, all the pretty ones seem to find their way onto the front of the scooter, and sit there all lined up in a perfectly colour coordinated row. This particular Peg Monster seems to have a bit of an OCD streak.

But the most bothersome monster isn’t one of the monsters at home. This one goes on holidays with us, and we’ve come to know it as the Wreckit Monster. We never know it’s with us until it strikes. Let me explain.

MONSTERS AT HOME: GRANDMA’S HOUSE

It was the middle of the night in Melbourne. Grandma was asleep in the next room. The kids were asleep on the floor in our room. Michael got out of bed, and threaded his way through the sleeping bodies to the kitchen. Thirst quenched, he headed back to bed.

THUMP! RIPPP!! His foot tangled in the floor length curtains on his side of the bed. He fell, narrowly avoiding Rosie, in her bed on the floor. Staggering upright, he tried to assess the damage in the dark, without waking the entire household. Fearing the worst, he gave up and went back to bed.

Morning light revealed the extent of the destruction. The curtain was beyond salvation. We were appalled. Michael fessed up to Grandma.

“I’ve wrecked your curtain, Grandma,” he said. “I fell over it in the night and ripped it.”

“Oh don’t you worry about it,” she replied. “People are more important than curtains. It was old anyway. I’m just glad you didn’t get hurt.”

“I’ll replace it for you,” he said. “It can’t be fixed.”

“Oh no, don’t worry about it,” she replied. “I’m not concerned about it.”

But we couldn’t leave Grandma with no curtain on her bedroom window. And it was our last day in Melbourne. So we pulled the curtain down, and drove all over the eastern suburbs, trying to find a solution. Some businesses couldn’t do what we needed. Some were too busy to fit it in. Some were booked for weeks in advance. We grew disheartened and weary. The kids were well and truly over it all.

Finally, near the end of the day, we found a curtain maker in the next suburb. We showed the lady the curtain.

“That style of curtain is illegal now,” she said. “The government brought in new safety regulations, so we can’t replace it the way it is. You’ll have to get a different hanging system.” We had a sinking feeling as she measured the curtain and added up the quote.

“We can install it for you next week,” she said. “That will be $4oo all up.” That hurt. Quite a lot. And in the times that we’ve been there since, I’ve admired the new curtain, then carefully tied it up out of the way so the Wreckit Monster can’t strike again. Monsters at home, indeed – someone else’s home!

MONSTERS AT HOME: NANNA’S HOUSE

Some time later, we visited Nanna for Easter. The kids were excited. VERY excited. I read them a bedtime story and tucked them into their makeshift beds on the floor. I prayed with them. I kissed them good night and closed the Venetian blinds in their room. Then I wearily retired to the living room with the other adults, relieved that they were in bed after what had been a long day.

A few minutes later, my brother in law went to check on his kids, who happened to be sleeping peacefully.

“Your kids are having a party down there,” he said when he came back. I heaved a sigh and got to my feet. Sure enough, as soon as I opened the hallway door, the hilarity assaulted my ears. Hysterical giggling. Shrieks of glee. A moment later, the Avenging Shadow of Mum looked over their fun. They dived back into their beds, guilt oozing from every pore.

“You kids are supposed to be asleep!” I growled at them. “Now, lie down and be quiet!” I shut the door on my way out so the light from the hallway wouldn’t fuel their antics.

A bit later, Michael went up the hallway, and found their door open and the kids out of bed again. He dealt with them – more severely than I had – and returned to the living area.

Not long after that, the bedroom ruckus reached such epic proportions that we all heard it through closed doors. I went up the hallway again and burst through the slightly open door. This time there were consequences. Mum had had enough. The kids decided they’d better settle down.

Early the next morning, the day we were leaving to go home, Nanna walked past the kids’ window as she left for her morning walk.

“That’s strange,” I heard her say. “It’s looks like the Venetian blinds are broken.”

And they were. It quickly became obvious that the kids had done more than giggle the night before. The Wreckit Monster had struck again.

“What were you kids doing last night?” I asked TD. “How did you wreck Nanna’s blind?”

“We were looking to see if the Easter bunny was coming,” he said.

The eager search for the Easter Bunny wrecked Nanna’s blinds

MONSTERS ON HOLIDAY

A few months ago, we went to Caloundra on Queensland’s Sunshine Coast for a week’s holiday. On our modest budget, we chose a unit that was old, but comfortably furnished, and it looked out over the ocean. We enjoyed watching the ships pass by, close to the coast.

It was a long drive to get there, and the next morning, we enjoyed a lie in, looking out over the ocean from bed. The peace was shattered when we had a child invasion. They rushed into our room and jumped on the bed. They supposedly wanted a snuggle with us, but bed soon became a war zone as the Tickle Monster came out of hiding. The kids laughed and shrieked as they became victims of the Tickle Monster, and I prepared to make a hasty exit to safer territory. All of a sudden, there was a loud crash. TD fell off the bed – and took the bedside table with him. It was only stuck to the wall, with no supporting legs beneath it, and it didn’t stand a chance. TD and table both landed on the floor, and the Wreckit Monster scored again. The Tickle Monster must’ve woken it up, I figure.

Michael examined the wreckage, and declared it fixable, but first we had to buy some tools and materials.  So we spent most of a day (a whole day!) of our precious holidays dealing with the destruction. Not to mention the goodly chunk of money it cost.

While Michael was in the bedroom fixing the bedside table, I put on a load of washing. The washing machine was nearly as old as me, I figured, but I’d used it the day before, and it had done its job. I was still in the laundry when it began to make a funny noise. I went over and lifted the lid, and a cloud of acrid smelling electrical smoke poured out of the bowl and filled the entire laundry. I quickly turned it off, but it was immediately apparent that this machine was going no further. I rang the agents. They promised a replacement as soon as one could be organized.

We waited. And waited. Each day a replacement washing machine was promised, and each day, it failed to arrive. Our supply of clean clothes dwindled. Finally, on the last day of our stay, we had to act. We gathered up a (by now huge) pile of washing, lugged it down the stairs from the third storey, drove to the laundromat, sat there for an hour and a half waiting for it, and paid a fortune for the privilege. Then we dragged it all back up the stairs, and spent the rest of the day trying to get it dry. Small amounts went through the dryer, and the rest was hung, draped and spread all over the place. And that was the last day of our holiday. Spent dealing with the consequences of yet another Wreckit Monster attack.

So if anything like this ever happens to you, there’s a good chance you have monsters at home. I’m sure I have monsters at home. I even know where some of them live. But I don’t think I’ll ever see one…