Remember this post about my 4-year-old's yard sale adventures? Well, recently he also came home with a battery-operated massage pillow. No, it's not things like He-Man action figures that my little guy looks for; it's giant-sized yard decor and vibrating spa items. So this pillow was filled with miniscule little styrofoam balls. Note that I said, "was" (past tense). I think this photograph adequately explains what happened.
Now, I tend to think my children are quite intelligent; geniuses, really. But it seems their superior intellect took a summer vacation. And common sense? I'm kind of thinking that they don't even possess it. At all.
I mean, why else would they see these little styrofoam pieces coming out of the pillow, and then proceed to rip it more and more so that the little devils are released into every nook and cranny of our home? And especially after I told them to throw the stupid pillow away so that exact thing wouldn't happen?
So, now my home is infested with about 83 billion tiny little styrofoam pieces. The number 83 billion is my favorite numerical exaggeration, but in this case, I think it's no exaggeration. We have swept, we have vacuumed, we have brushed and shaken these little things off our clothing. And yet they exist. I suspect they will continue to be part of our home for many years to come, hiding in drawers, cowering in corners, and sticking to us so that no one will ever believe that our family doesn't have a serious dandruff outbreak.
Anyone out there considering starting a family? Be forewarned.