Yesterday I pondered about the messy nature of my living room floor.
Today I’m left wondering if the same children played with it.
As they sleep peacefully, I stare at my floor in wonder. Sure, there are a few odds and ends: a car, my son’s sunglasses his sister threw to the floor, a teether, a play coin, a gigantic eye, and the cracker my daughter was eating and apparently abandoned under the coffee table. But it’s practically spotless in comparison to yesterday.
Perhaps it’s because my son kept saying he was tired and just wanted to watch the planets crashing into each other in his tablet. What can I say? This kid likes destruction.
Maybe it’s because we spent almost an hour out at Michael’s craft store.
It’s possible it has something to do with these awesome bubbles he found there. For just a few dollars, I can blow bubbles for the kids and they can catch them. Well, my son’s hair did a lot of catching while he squished many and got the residue all over his hands. And his sister couldn’t help laughing and going for the bubbles in his hair and on the couch.
“More! Blow more! Big ones!”
Slow down, kid. Mommy is running out of breath.
I did this to myself.
But at least my floor is clean. Mostly.