When Life Hands You Grapes

Don't make grape juice! Make me a glass of wine. I'd enjoy it right now. But I'm not sure if I want to have anything to do with grapes.

We have a no drinks/food in the bedrooms rule. Enforcement is lax. The kids are very adept at sneaking it in and where are inept at catching/berating them when they do. The male child snuck a full bottle of grape juice into Abby's room today. I think you know what happened, don't you?

I am taking a break after spending the last hour blotting, patting, soaking, cleaning, begging the grape juice to come out of the carpet. It still looks like a crime scene from a grape murder. A massacre of an entire vineyard of grapes. All the grapes in France committing a mass cult suicide... okay I'm exaggerating.

J.T. forgot his homework. Again. Half-an-hour after spilling grape juice on the carpet is not a good time to tell your mother that your homework assignment, already a week overdue, is not in your bag. Abby followed up her nail polish on the lips adventure by decorating her entire face and hands with lipstick and then wallowing about on the carpet.

The kids are on a "Mommy break". That little interlude of time where it is best for their well-being if they are out of Mommy's immediate reach/voice range for a bit. The new steam vac is getting quite a workout tonight.