Can I say that I think the endless stream of rainy days is harder on moms of boys (and our houses) than the moms of girls. Can I be that sexist? I think I can because it’s true. The other day a bunch of moms were over and we were in the kitchen chatting, drinking, eating olives and goat cheese and the kids were running around like Banshees. My furniture was pushed up against the wall, nerf guns were being negoiated, and there was lots of “Your Dead! No Your really dead!” We let them go at it because it was pouring and it was necessary  for a while. Then they started climbing the columns in the dining and we put an end to it and turned on the TV. It was just in time too, because after I was fluffing the throw pillows the living room couch, I spied this.

According to Dashiell, it’s a playdough “grenade” that had exploded into my dining room door, mere inches away from my silk-screened wallpaper.

I really hope the weekend is nice.

This entry was posted on Thursday, June 11th, 2009 at 3:08 pm and is filed under Random acts of mothering, Zow! This is grosser than gross. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.