The girls got into the pantry today. This isn’t the first time, and generally, it’s not a big deal. Usually, they find things like canned tuna or a bag of beans, both of which are impossible to open without tools. But today, well, today was special. Today they found a container of angel hair pasta, not in its original package but in a nifty handy-dandy Tupperware quick-serve pasta container similar to this one.
Damn those Tupperware people and their crafty ideas.
I smite the blogosphere in Tupperware’s general direction because, in their infinite wisdom, they neglected to forsee the potential timebomb lurking in my pantry in the form of this purportedly useful and seemingly innocent piece of moulded plastic. See, while it is nice to dispense spaghetti into a boiling pot of water, it is immensely more pleasurable to dispense it onto the dining room floor. We know this firsthand in our house.
I heard the girls making a racket in the dining room, and was about to go out to Mediate when DD1 stopped me in the kitchen. “Don’t look at the mess,” she commanded, her arms out for emphasis. I laughed.
“What mess?” I wondered. She didn’t budge.
Arms still outstretched in traffic cop fashion, she had a very serious expression on her sweet little face. “DON’T LOOK AT THE MESS.” She meant business.
“Okay, I won’t look at the mess,” I said. I went back to the sink and dried a few pots until DD went back into the dining room. Then I stealthily followed behind, and saw the two kids crouched down over the pasta holder trying to stuff the last few sticks of angel hair that had been stored in there back into their rightful home.
“Oh, thank you for picking up!” I exclaimed. They jumped, but then smiled proudly as I gushed about how it was okay to make little messes on accident, as long as we picked them up. Both girls got squeezes and hugs for their neatness efforts. We all went back to whatever it was we were doing.
Smart people will notice that I did not confiscate the angel hair. What in the hell was I thinking??? I, apparently, am not smart.
I got sucked onto the computer to check email around this time, and the kids sounded like they were playing relatively well. They had gone into my bedroom, and were hopping around on the bed. I had just folded a bit of laundry and probably should have gone in there to get it put away before it all ended up on the floor, but, well, the Internet calls. Damn the Internet.
A few minutes later, the squeals became unnaturally joyful for a couple of kids bouncing on the mattress. I decided to verify that this is, indeed, what they were doing. They have a bad habit of going into our master bath, and it occurred to me that they might be painting the sink edge with mascara again, or possibly polishing the cabinets with toothpaste. Using my toothbrush. Again.
In the bedroom, I found them playing with the pillows and having a ball. I didn’t understand what all the extra squealing was about. That is, I didn’t get it until I started to go around the bed to give them little nonsense kisses.
“Wha-” I started to wonder, aloud. What did I step on? A plastic toy? A book? Just then, it hit me. That was pasta crunching under my foot.
A very dark cloud must have appeared over my head at that point, judging by the reaction from the kids. I was so upset that I could barely see in front of me. Damn those girls for blatantly violating at least three of the five rules of our house. Damn me for failing to confiscate the pasta earlier! And most of all, damn the Tupperware people for making that pasta dispenser so exiting to use!!! DAMN YOU ALL!!!
Now, I’m sure you are all asking yourselves the same question: what kind of flooring do you have in your bedroom? Couldn’t you just sweep it up? And I will have to answer you thusly:
THE BEDROOM IS ONE OF TWO ROOMS ON OUR UPPER FLOOR THAT DOES NOT HAVE GORGEOUS, LOVELY, EASILY-SWEPT-UP HARDWOOD FLOORING. IT HAS FUZZY, SHAGGY, TRAPS-ALL-PARTICLES CARPETING.
So, damn you, carpet-people. Damn you all.
How do you get angel hair pasta out of carpet? I ask you this. Engineers should be paid to work on this very topic, as it is of burning importance (at least in our house). You can’t rake it. Not really. You can’t use a broom to sweep it up, because the pieces poke out everywhichway and you’ll end up with tiny pasta tumbleweeds that, frankly, fail to tumble.
I suppose you could pour boiling water over it, wait five minutes, and then shovel it out. Or you could sauce it up and eat it off the floor, if you really didn’t want to waste anything. But then you would have the added bits of hair, paper, and dust that are prevalent in carpet. They’re probably even more bountiful in our carpet, since I’m a lousy housekeeper. None of that sounds very appetizing.
Actually, the method we employed in my wrath-of-mama scourge of the pasta was to pick up as many of the larger pieces as we could and place them in a trash can. The rest, we just stomped until the bits were small enough to vacuum. Needless to say, the pasta dispenser is in the freecycle pile. Outside.
Now it is the next day. It might have all been a dream, a horrible terrible dream, except I found a stray piece of angel hair next to my nightstand. I can also see the sweeper container is full of yellowish bits, along with a good amount of dust bunnies. It’s probably better that I didn’t make the kids eat their dinner off the floor yesterday.
Angel hair. Bah. Snort. Damn you, angel hair. Damn you.