A Validation of My Theory

Ever since Amber started eating baby food in a high chair, I've thought about how wonderful it would be to build a house that had gently sloped cement floors with a central drain in every room, thus requiring only a hose and maybe a scuba mask to produce a pristine dwelling despite habitation by toddlers. Sweet potatoes, rice, red popsicles, chili, blueberry yogurt and Play Dough have been mercilessly mashed into the carpet and walls over and over despite my best efforts to drape every porous surface within flinging distance in dishtowels, sheets, and even a shower curtain. An experience today reaffirmed my genius in such an idea.

Karli sneakily transferred the contents of twenty mini-containers of Play Dough into a 24-ounce cup full of cold water and let it stew just long enough to morph into a slimy, gelatinous batch of goo that, if you've never experienced this atrocity for yourself, is nearly impossible to remove from any surface, and flung it around the entire kitchen. Seven paper towels, a bucket, a mop, and a timeout later, I was convinced I needed my cement floors and drain so I could hose everything down pool-deck style.

I'm thrilled that my brother-in-law is skilled in the cement floor arena because as soon as we pay off our law school loans, I'm enlisting him in my battle against indelible food stains, finger paint, and soggy masses of modeling compound (although, by the time that debt is paid, my cement floors may be handy for my grandchildren and not my own kids).