The Great Glitter Catastrophe

Raising girls is a lot like trying to navigate a tornado while wearing roller skates—it’s wild, unpredictable, and someone is always crying (sometimes it's me). My daughters, Ava (11) and Adalynn (7), are a constant source of chaos and comedy.

One fateful Saturday, I made a mistake. A huge mistake. I took them to the craft store.

Now, any seasoned parent knows that taking children into a craft store is like dropping a raccoon into a room full of cotton candy—nothing good will come of it. But I was feeling optimistic, and there was a school project to do, so in we went.

"Mom! Look! GLITTER!" Ava shrieked, her eyes sparkling with the same dangerous energy as the tiny, impossible-to-remove flakes she was holding.

Adalynn, not one to be outdone, grabbed an even bigger container. "THIS ONE HAS HEARTS!" she declared, holding it above her head like a sacred artifact.

I should have said no. I should have redirected them to something safer, like markers or pre-cut shapes. But, in a moment of weakness (and because I was desperate to get out of there), I said, "Fine. But only if you promise to use it carefully."

Oh, how naive I was.

Back home, I foolishly left them unsupervised for five minutes—just enough time to pretend I had my life together.

"IT'S SNOWING!" Ava yelled.

That should have been my first clue that something had gone terribly wrong. I walked into the living room and nearly passed out. The glitter was EVERYWHERE. On the floor, on the couch, on the dog—who now looked like he had just returned from a disco-themed dog show. Adalynn, covered from head to toe in sparkles, grinned proudly.

"We made it beautiful!"

I stared at the scene before me. The hardwood floors were now permanently glitter-infused. My vacuum groaned in protest as I attempted cleanup. Days later, my husband came home from work with glitter inexplicably stuck to his forehead.

And the worst part?

Glitter. Never. Leaves.

It's been six years. We’ve moved houses. I still find glitter in my socks.

Lesson learned: never, under any circumstances, allow young girls access to glitter. It’s not a craft supply—it’s a life sentence.