Feeling smug about getting the kids and all of their extra daycare stuff (party today) ready to head out the door earlier than usual this morning.
As I grab my purse from the counter to leave, the strap catches around a glass sugar bowl, sending it flying through the air, to explode on the tile floor in a magnificent rain of turbinado sugar and glass. So much glass.
Problematic for three reasons – whenever the “leaving process” is interrupted, all hell usually breaks loose with the kids. Someone disrobes, or poops, or decorates themselves in Vaseline.
Two, there are millions of tiny shards of glass mixed in with the sugar on the floor, so I can’t just leave it and clean it up after I get home from dropping them off, because I’m sure my dogs would ignore bleeding tongues (and intestinal perforations) in favor of a delicious sugar buffet.
And three, I haven’t been able to find my dustpan for weeks.
This is how it always goes, isn’t it? Think you’re totally rocking the mom gig, and life comes back to tell you , “naw, girl.”