My daughter had a friend over last night for a playdate. After the little girl left, Genna turned her sad, scared eyes up to mine and said, "Mommy, we sort of made a bit of a mess in the basement." I said, in a breezy, nonchalant way, "Oh, honey, don't worry about. Go and get ready for bed, and I'll clean it up."
I went downstairs, and - Holy Toledo! The two girls managed to find a box of packing peanuts and strewed them all over the place. They also apparently did the cha cha and the twist on the peanuts, because most of the little white suckers have been smushed right into the flooring.
Needless to say, I backed away and closed the door. But now I have to go back down there and deal with the Styrofoam Situation. I know it's coming. I just don't want to face the fact that I have to clean it up, since it involves three mortal enemies of mine: a broom, a vacuum, and a mop.