It's so Pintrest (un)worthy

Yesterday was the furthest thing from what our society deems "Pintrest Worthy," despite how awesome my ham broccoli braid looked before and after it was baked.

It's like the moment my feet hit the floor the Goob had it out for me. I went to shower and get ready to go to the gym (yeah, I shower prior to getting sweated up) only to come downstairs and smell ... something. Definitely a smell from my primary school years. So familiar I could almost taste it.

Rubber cement. Only not. Vinyl patch glue. More like it.

All over her hands. On the carpet. On the kitchen floor.

I was more mad than anything because I was afraid, at first glance - she had her hands in a prayer pose - that it was super glue and it flashed through my mind that 1) I have no idea the quickest way to the hospital from here and 2) there's no way I would have gotten her safely in the carseat if her hands were glued together.

You've never seen someone have a full on conniption fit until you've witnessed a raving 31-year-old mother dealing with a glue covered child who thinks she's just "washing" her hands with some stinky soap.

Strategic plans of attack

Things have been quiet around here.

Well, if you can call the ear piercing screaming that has replaced my 3-year-old's beautiful little voice "quiet" that would be a fairly accurate statement.

By "quiet" I'm hoping you've read between the lines. The kids haven't gone totally berzerk and started climbing the walls again like they did when my husband was out of town for the better part of two weeks at the beginning of October. Yeah, they're less crazy (ie: quiet) lately, which makes me wonder what they're secretly plotting.