My house is not a childproof house. There is glass and metal at every turn. There are breakable treasures all around and is not a very kid-friendly place.
It it also NOT husband-proof. When I walk into the garage I often find broken platters, smashed plates and cracked bowls buried under an array of paraphernalia and other junk. I think, “Who can possibly do this?” but I know it was my husband who hid the evidence. This is a man who can break anything he puts his hands on. Anything that he comes in contact with will perish under his supervision.
One day while vacuuming, he broke 8 wine glasses in one shot. Eight. Things go missing all the time and I often wonder if I misplaced them or they’ve been sent to an early grave.
Last night at 2:00 a.m. I was awaked not by fuzzy cat tail in my face (that was 4:30), but by an incessant, loud hacking and a never-ending banging of various noise-makers in the kitchen. It drives me crazy. This morning I tried to grab the plastic container of cookies that I bought at the Italian deli and low and behold they were open and spewed sugar and cookies all over my counter. I even lost some in the kitchen sink.
If I buy Cheez-Its, they’re all over the couch and floor. If it’s chocolate, it’s strewn throughout the house. Frankly, I have trouble distinguishing between the melted chocolate and Bailey’s skid marks. Ah yet another topic for my blog!
Anyhow, I try not to get mad but when I find crummy counters and coffee stains on my frosted glass end tables, I tend to get a little nuts. Not as nuts as my driving, but crazy.
So whether it’s broken glass, a trail of eaten food, Hershey Highways or just an unclosed bag of bread or chips, my house and my life will never be man-proof – but would I want it any other way?