Like Icky Sticky Sands Through the Hourglass

The inmates were running the asylum last night as SSB is out of town this week. Again. No one did anything particularly unusual or worse than they ever do, but it was all the little things piling up on me one grain of sand at a time.

Beeman threw a screaming fit about dinner as usual and chose to sleep instead of eat as usual. Snickety chose to go outside and play instead of do his chores as usual meaning when bedtime rolled around he didn't have his stuff done.

Taz tormented me with his constant barrage of pleas to play Xbox, his one and only true love. Pootie Pie obsessed over getting a guinea pig even though her gerbil is not yet dead, much to her disgust.

Bunny screamed NO at everyone and tried to slam the door in their face whenever they wanted to come in the house. She stood there like a London guard, very committed but much less stoic.

My saving grace, Bugaboo, was at work like always and they talked her into staying late like always so I had check up on her and see why she wasn't home an hour after she should have been.

And throughout the night one spot on the floor kept getting wet and sticky. Pootie wiped it up. I wiped it up. I mopped it. I hate dirty sticky floors, especially unworldly, reoccurring sticky floors that mysteriously regenerate themselves. I kept looking for Slimer to come swooping down at me.

Today, after mopping a few more times and still stepping on a sticky mess, I found the source: one of Bunny's abandoned juice boxes in the pantry. That is her juice box graveyard, like the drawer under the oven is her hot dog graveyard.

After a long afternoon and evening of struggle I headed to my lonely bed only to be welcomed by a pile of sand on the bedspread. Bunny loves her sandbox and has sand in all her cracks and crevices after playing. Her changing table is gritty with it from it falling out of her diaper, but this was more sand than would be in a diaper. It was my turn to throw a fit and Pootie grabbed a hand held vacuum and sprayed it around the room for me. I tried to get them all to confess to no avail. I gave up and read them a story and tried to go to bed again. This time there was an even bigger pile UNDER the covers. I am pretty sure someone did it on purpose. Someone who thinks the term/name Sandy Cheeks is funny. Now I just have to figure out who so I can dole out the appropriate torture.