The end of an Airer

In Nick and my old woolstore apartment there were no clotheslines.  As a result we had to buy a wooden clothes drying rack to put all our washing on.  It wasn’t huge and when drying things like sheets and towels it was a bit futile.  But after using it for the best part of five years in the apartment we moved to suburbia with a big hills hoist in the backyard and a bunch of lines under the house.  Despite this we have still dried the majority of our washing on the rack for the past two years.  But alas no more - it was getting pretty faded and one of the dowels had cracked, now finally the crossbar packed it in.  So as the title states, it is the end of an airer. I wonder whether this will now encourage us to use the proper washline or whether I will just replace it? 

It is a good thing that I use disposable nappies otherwise it would have been a bit of a challenge hanging on the little airer all those cloth nappies like I remember we had hanging from the hills hoist when we were kids.  We may be making one hell of a carbon footprint but it beats washing nappies.  We’ll just have to make up for it other ways.  Like maybe recycling all those empty wine bottles we seem to find just laying around?

We had an afternoon of B&W photos the other day (light inside was bad and I just felt like it).  Nick had just come home from work (which is thankfully winding up for the year – just a few days more for him to get through) and the boys were rolling around in the hallway in anticipation of nudey streaker time of day. 

Nick tries to bath Ollie most nights which is wonderful for everyone involved.  Them obviously for the great time they have and me because it gives me a respite from picking the giant 11 kilo boy up (yes, that’s right, we have now cracked 11kg).  We don’t have a bathtub but we do have a massive big plastic tub that does the trick leaving plenty of room for the plastic cups (6), plastic boats (4) and rubber ducks (4). 

Ollie got into a bit of mischief and pulled some reading material out the other day.  You can see that his choices were between some nefarious publication called Playboy and One flew over the cuckoos nest.  Seems our boy prefers the classics.

Not everything has been so fun lately.  The other morning on our way out the door I somehow managed to shut two of Ollie’s fingers in the door.  Not just a little clip – I TOTALLY shut the door.  Once I heard his blood-curdling scream (as did the entire neighbourhood) I had to use my keys to unlock the door to get his poor squished little fingers out.  Not surprisingly there were a lot of big salty tears and sobs as I poured paracetamol down his mouth and kissed his hand while I shook like a leaf.  Thankfully he has bounced back and doesn’t seem troubled by his injury, nor has he learnt his lesson, as I have noticed him reaching for the hinge on the way out the door again.