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Death by marble
By Betsy Richter | 8:40 pmOur house is a disaster area. Toys strewn all over the place, piles of dirty clothes in the hamper, dishes as far as the eye can see.
The excavation’s planned for tomorrow. So what does DM want to play with tonight, surrounded by all of the chaos?
Marbles. Right in the middle of my office floor. And she started by dumping eleventy-zillion in a pile on said floor – only to watch several zillion scatter for freedom within seconds.
Because I am still TMMITWWW, I jumped in to Ban the Marbles. “No marbles for you!”, I proclaimed.
And after some mumblings and grumbling and rolling of eyes, not to mention attempts to turn the marble pickup process itself into a New and Exciting Game – well, we have the marbles corralled.
I think, anyway.
If not? I’ll discover it tomorrow morning, when I slip on it and land right on the wood floor, tearing some important muscle group in the process. Or I’ll discover it tomorrow afternoon, when it lands in the vaccuum cleaner.
I’m just not naive enough to assume that we retrieved every single last one of the future instruments of torture, you see. That’s just not possible – especally given our streak of luck around here lately.
So I’m going on record right now – if there’s an emergency room visit or appliance repair ticket or parental nervous breakdown on tomorrow’s agenda? The cause will get traced back to one small damned marble. Guaranteed.
Topics: Bossing the Kids | No Comments »
