It started before breakfast.
I noticed an unnatural though sadly familiar suffering gurgle come from the powder room toilet. I checked it out, and sure enough the telltale bubbles and clunking flush that only come from a clog are present. I opened the sink cupboard, all ready knowing what I would find. SOMEBODY left the Clorox wipes in the bathroom. SOMEBODY apparently, in his uncontrollable urge to achieve the highest levels of efficiency and cleanliness, forgot what happened the last time Clorox wipes were left under the sink. When a young lady, mimicking SOMEBODY'S uncontrollable urge to achieve the highest levels of efficiency and cleanliness, flushed half a container of Clorox wipes.
Yes, that was the year we got on a first name basis with the plumber. And we removed literally everything from the sink cupboard. You would be surprised what fun idle hands can have with toilet brushes, spare diapers or cleaning solution. Not to mention Clorox wipes.
So, now, we do not call Bill anymore because we own our very own snake. That dandy purchase was made after a clog in the basement toilet that to this day The Teenager blames on his then only friend.
"He exists solely on dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets," he reasoned. As if to explain the dinosaur sized clog in the toilet. And you may have also assumed The Husband was wrestling a dinosaur with the sounds behind the closed bathroom door as he snaked the living hell out of that thing. Not so much as a fossil was found, and it did eventually flush.
But where was I?
Oh yes. After breakfast now.
I had to attend a family meeting with the hospital social worker by phone because there was no child care to be had. I turned on The Kindergartner's favorite cartoon to keep her busy. Perhaps it was the fingernails-on-the-chalkboard whining of Rarity that masked the sounds of The Kindergartner making herself some homemade lemonade, complete with half a dozen lemons sliced with a butter knife, half a jar of honey and the resulting sticky mess. On the family room carpet.
We would have had a super fun logical consequence moment if there was time to scrub honey off more than just her before running for the school bus.
After school, I settled her at the table to work on her homework which should have been fun. She is supposed to make an ornament with a fairytale theme. Totally up her alley. She lives for all the Disney Princess stuff. Only she has absolutely no interest in this assignment. I try to lure her with promises of red glitter for The Little Mermaid's hair. She ends up choosing to make The Gingerbread Man which I am pretty sure is the same example the teacher used in class. And when I say "she ends up making " what I mean is she spends 60 seconds cutting out a crude shape from a paper bag and grabs a yellow highlighter to draw some eyes. I try to fancy it up a some glue and red glitter. "Nice job Mom" she says of my completion of her homework.
And the next fatal error I cannot blame on SOMEBODY. I leave the glitter on the table and turn my back to put dinner on the stove. A fraction of a second later I swear I can hear the millions of red glitter particles hit the table. The chairs. The floor.
Have you ever tried to clean up massive amounts of glitter? My kitchen table looks like a crime scene in which Ke$ha is the prime suspect. Some of it vacuums up. Some of it comes up with a wet paper towel. Some of it gets stuck between your toes. And the rest will likely remain as part of an unintended decor.
Genghis Khan's got nothing on this glittery trail of destruction.