The Reason Why There Is A Piece Of Glitter On My Face

WonderWife™ was out running an errand. The kids were finally down for their rest time. At long last quiet had descended upon the house.  I was mere moments into seizing the first opportunity I had all day to gorge myself at the trough of Facebook and Twitter when a scream rang out from the Bean’s room.

I burst through the Bean’s bedroom door like Whatshisface Baldwin in Backdraft, to find him sitting on his bed, wet and surrounded by shards of glass.  The Bean had thought that vigorously shaking a snow globe next to a wall was a good idea and naturally, it broke.  I inspected him for cuts and seeing that there were none proceeded to the calm-the-kid-down stage so I could inspect the damage.  My worst fears had been realized.  The bed had been compromised.  The shimmering contents that had once been held captive safely inside the glass orb had now been released into the world, like spirits from the Arc.  Glitter was everywhere--all over the Bean's bed, cascading down the wall and plastered against half of the Bean's face and hair. 

I cannot stand glitter. If glitter were a food, it would be cilantro. Yet my parental duties to clean up the glass and glitter fiasco outweighed my loathing of the stuff. So I did what needed to be done.  I rolled up my sleeves and got to work making the Bean's bed once again sleep-able, knowing that this was to be far from the last time that I would be seeing the evil shimmery bastards.