NOW I have something to write (it’s petty and whiny, so be warned). While getting Sabrina’s lunch ready, I managed to drop a jar of applesauce on the floor. A nearly full, volume sized for your savings, glass jar of applesauce on my hard, cold tile floor with dark grout in which whole green peas have been lost for days. And it didn’t just go Thunk! Shard skated – nay, danced across the floor into corners I’d forgotten were there.
Normally, this would be an irritant of the sand in your bathing suit all day variety, but just an irritant nonetheless. Did I mention the baby that crawls at the speed of sound? And that sound was shattering glass. Moth to flame, thy name is Sabrina. (Yes, I’m mixing metaphors. Deal with it. Shards of glass, people.)
Thus, an irritant turned into a horror movie in about 3.2 seconds. I swooped the little bug into her highchair with one arm while grabbing the broom with the other.
So I have spent the last hour first ruining my mop, then on my hands and knees with wet paper towels, and finally with the big honkin’ wet dry vac my grandma gave us for Christmas a few years back. The baby slept through this. No, I didn’t tranquilize her. Nor did the 4 year old who hates vacuums with the white hot passion of a thousand suns freak completely out because I shut him in his room with half a dozen new books. The floor is cleaner than it’s probably been since we walked in the door with Sammy, and I have decided to bust into that extra box of Valentine’s chocolates to soothe my delicate sensibility. I thought Friday the 13th was two weeks ago.