And trust me, I only reserve the H word for severe cases. War, famine, glitter.
Last night, three 8th grade girls decided to “make their field day shirts more interesting”. One of my daughter’s friends pulled out what can only be described as a bucket of glitter. This is shocking to me. Although I love both my kids and encourage all forms of creativity – I do not, I will not, I have not ever bought them glitter (and I’ve never taken them to Disney Land either, sue me).
I bit my lip and gently led them to the garage where they spent the rest of the night working on the project. Once in a while, one of them would have to come into the house to use the bathroom (geez) or get some water (come on!). I’d hold my breath. I saw glitter floating through my house like pollen. I had visions of glitter footprints up and down my walls like some messed up horror movie.
I tried to be a cool mom and pretend it didn’t bother me. Then I remembered I am the opposite of a cool mom. I’m ok with that. Cool moms are probably covered in glitter.
Crime scene below. Cover your eyes. Names have been altered to protect the victims.
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