What's behind your couch (or does my child have a "thing")?

Something happened this weekend that made me wonder about kids. Well, not all kids, just mine. Have you ever found undies behind your TV? I’m guessing not.

I was searching for something the other night and, having failed to find it in all the logical places, started to look in the illogical ones. Like behind the TV. I didn’t find what I was looking for but was mildly surprised to find a pair of The Child’s undies down there, nestled between a couple of CDs and some dust bunnies. Carefully wielding the BBQ tongs, I slowly pulled the offending undies out from behind the TV in a move reminiscent of so many games of Operation. What possessed him to throw them there? Who knows.

Let me explain. My partner R and I share our lives with a 7 year old cyclone, AKA The Child. Now, I know that small boys are by nature pretty gross. And beware, if you have a beautiful, cherubic 3 year old boy, it won’t belong before you know exactly what I’m talking about. The “OMG I’m not going to look in your schoolbag I’ll just empty it into the bin with eyes and nostrils closed and throw the bag into the backyard in the hopes that smell will eventually disappear” kind of gross. A friend of mine, a mother of two little grot-monsters,  told me once “Oh little boys are just horrible”. I didn’t believe her. I should have.

I’m wondering if The Child is the normal kind of 7 year old boy gross, or if he has thing.

As in, “my child has this thing where…”

The long-suffering and patient R decided to give the house A Really Good Clean this weekend. We both work, so giving the house a really good once over, instead of the cursory “that’ll do” doesn’t happen that often. He seemed content to proceed through the house until he got to a particular section of the loungeroom. From the sounds coming down the hallway, I realised he must have Moved The Couch.

Did you know that the crust from a ham sandwich petrifies to solid concrete after two weeks behind our couch? Who knew that we had a geological anomaly of archaeological significance right there behind the old three-seater? And who knew that this area of our house has become a blue suede Bermuda Triangle, from whence foam darts, foil tops off strawberry custard pots (custard side down of course), chewed gum and lolly wrappers couldn’t escape?

I see a pattern here. Knickers thrown behind the TV, assorted food thrown behind the couch. Should we place a laundry basket and rubbish bin in every room in the house? No, because even in the bathroom some days he can’t seem to put the toilet paper in the bowl; it becomes a gruesome little ball on the floor, ready for mummy to find.

Yep, my kid has a thing alright.

I can see you all queuing to come visit this house of random object throwing – not.

But before you start donning HazMat suits, picking up flamethrowers and pointing well-manicured, bad mummy accusatory fingers at me…

HAVE YOU CHECKED WHAT’S BEHIND YOUR COUCH?