Monday it was the kitty litter. Distributed ALL OVER THE BASEMENT by enthusiastic toddler hands while I was distracted doing a puzzle with some calm, quiet little girls.
Tuesday had the same basic theme, but this time with colour. Light bright pegs. All. Over. The. Basement. I had to simply take a deep breath, give the lecture, calmly, then walk away from the scene of the crime.
Today, while I was foolishly welcoming in a few more toddlers, my precious son got his hands on a coke bottle (I will have to torture and maim one of my older offspring for leaving it out, and within daycare reach....) and managed to smash it. ON THE BASEMENT FLOOR.
Does the basement hate me? As much as blogger does? (refuses to publish things I've spent way too much time on..... grrrrrr ) Have I been beaten by a few small humans? Do I need a vacation? Should I pour cement down the stairs, encasing all the toys, and never return there again?
The house may look pretty and serene in pictures. But that's not the way it feels in the RW today. MY BACK HURTS! I forgot my friends birthday is today. I always forget. Why do people not forget mine, then make me feel like I'm as big a bonehead as I suspected? I don't feel like sweeping up glass, or kitty litter, or brightly coloured pegs, or wet macaroni.
(Aren't old people allowed to cry and whine without discretion?)