****!!

Something weird has been going on in our building. For a week now an Airstream trailer has been parked outside and a group of official looking people with headphones and name tags have been hopping in and out, to and froing to our lobby. Not only that, there’s big chunky cable leading from the trailer to an apartment two floors above us.

Yesterday - ever the nosy neighbor - I decided to ask someone what’s going on.

Apparently, a family upstairs have been chosen to be the subjects of some fly-on-the-wall tv show that looks at different parenting techniques. This family caught the producers attention because they already had their home wired up to a bunch of webcams (so that family members around the world could tune into their website and see what they are up to, 24-7).

Just after I’d found out what the trailer and cable was all about, I returned to my apartment to find that our washing machine had leaked and caused a flood in our bathroom. Two people from downstairs were already lined up outside the door to tell me about water gushing through their ceilings.

When I’d reassured the not very happy neighbors, I was onto it, I set about mopping up. With Benny in tow, of course. As I battled with towels, mops and Benny squealing with delight as he splashed (in his socks) in the inch of water, I noticed that the flood was worse than I thought. Big pools of water had collected under the washing machine and it seemed near impossible to clear it up.

“Shit, shit, shit!!” I muttered. And then a little voice behind me shouted, “Shit…shit…shit.”

Of course, it made me laugh like a drain. But also made me realize that round the clock surveillance of my parenting techniques wouldn’t exactly be my cup of tea! Webcams would be bad enough. But on national TV, too? Argh.