OMG the Glass!

The first year of my first marriage, I managed to break 11 of the 12 glasses we received as wedding/shower gifts.  We had a relatively small wedding – the large number of glasses was a joke about my ex-husband’s neurotic need to be able to get his hand in the glass; at least that’s my interpretation.  I think he might think it’s because everyone agrees with him about being able to get your hand to the bottom.  Or maybe it’s because everyone knew that I was a klutz.  Either way, we went through at least a dozen more before the end of our marriage (there were too many ‘broken marriage’ clichés I could insert here so I just didn’t bother).

At my second wedding there were no glasses as gifts.  Now that I have a toddler, I’m kind of regretting that.  Well, I guess, as a mother of three, I’m regretting it.  It’s been a very glassy week.  Yesterday my teen broke a wine glass (It was in the dishwasher he was emptying, he wasn’t actually drinking wine…  He’s much more of a whiskey drinker, anyway).  After I swept it up he tells me he’s surprised I was so quick; it was apparently a much faster job than when he and my husband cleaned up the beaker he broke a few days earlier.

Then there was the glass ball I dropped, only hours before the wine glass incident.  An ornament filled with glow-in-the-dark paint; fine glass and dried paint all over the kitchen.  Oh well, the kitchen needed sweeping anyway.

But tonight, Babington broke a tumbler. I have never seen so much glass… and as an Olympic-class glass-breaker, I know what I’m talking about.  It shattered like a … well, a glass.  But it was a tall, heavy glass – tiny square shards, scattered across my messy living room.  I was shaking out stuffed animals, wiping down books, throwing out papers because it was too much trouble to decided how to clean the sheets up, and sweeping under the radiator, repeatedly, as the glass kept appearing out of nowhere.  It was across the room (how it worked its way through the clutter, to find the corner on the other side of the room is a mystery to me.  Must have been a wicked ricocheted off of the rocking chair, across the hardwood, into the music box, off the wall, over to the laundry basket, along the book, into the corner.  But I’m just guessing).

I’m just hoping I got it all.  The only thing worse than picking glass out of your own foot is picking glass out of your kid’s foot (hand/ knee/ face… how do they even do that?)