So apparently… I’m that mom now.
You know the one: house wide open, juice boxes fully stocked, someone else’s child always barefoot in your hallway asking where the bathroom is while holding a bag of shredded cheese like a raccoon at a music festival.
Yes. That mom.
And I love it. I do. I love being the house where the kids gather like sticky little moths to the snack-light. But I need someone to explain to me how seven children, a 10-minute lego project, and a unicorn stuffie turned my home into what I can only describe as Coachella: Toddler Edition.
🌈 Scene 1: A Craft Project Turns Into a Full-Scale Rave
It all started innocently enough with a “grow your own crystals” science kit. Because I thought, Let’s be the fun educational mom today! Spoiler: she’s dead now.
Somewhere between dissolving powder A into mystery liquid B and telling everyone, “SCIENCE IS COOL,” I blacked out with my eyes open. Full mom autopilot. Brain in screensaver mode. No thoughts, just vibes.
When I came to, the kitchen had transformed into a glitter-based crime scene. A shimmery alien fungus had colonized my stove, two kids were wearing crystal hats like geode warlords, and someone (my own child) had licked the blue powder to “see if it tastes like blue.”
It didn’t. It tasted like a lawsuit.
🦄 Scene 2: SparkleBiscuit Didn’t Make It
Now, we have a giant stuffed unicorn. Massive. Regal. His name is SparkleBiscuit and up until yesterday he stood proudly beside our indoor jungle gym like the mythical bouncer of Fun Land.
But something happened during the glitter storm. Something… dark.
When the rave ended, SparkleBiscuit was wedged sideways between the monkey bars and the IKEA shelving unit, eyes wide, deflated in spirit and body. His once-proud horn now drooped like he’d just lived through a Vegas bachelorette weekend and witnessed things no unicorn should.
Honestly? Same, buddy.
🧽 Scene 3: The Hangover (But With Fruit Snacks)
The next morning looked like the aftermath of a mosh pit. Marker stains on the ceiling. Cheese stick wrappers in my couch. A glitter handprint on the dog. One child left behind a single Croc, Cinderella-style. It was missing the back strap. I’m not sure it arrived that way or the puppy left her mark.
I found a sticker in my bra later that day. I wasn’t even wearing a bra when the party started.
The kids? They all skipped out happily, chirping, “BYE Gabby’s MOM! THANKS FOR THE BEST DAY EVER!” like a swarm of overly polite birds hopped up on apple juice.
💡 Rebrand the Chaos
Did I clean? Of course not. It was 104 degrees. Instead, I dragged us all outside, threw apples and cheese at the kids, and declared it “a detox dinner.”
🥴 The Verdict? 10/10, Would Host Again.
Because honestly? This is the good stuff.
Yes, my home now permanently smells like sweaty socks and crushed juice boxes. Yes, SparkleBiscuit may never emotionally recover. And yes, I skipped out the door for work the next morning so I wouldn’t have to acknowledge the mess.
But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Let the neighborhood kids invade. Let them turn my Tupperware drawer into a percussion instrument and my pantry into a buffet of forbidden snacks. Because one day the house will be quiet, and I’ll actually miss finding a half-eaten gummy vitamin stuck to my foot.
Let me know if you want to turn this into a series called “Things That Were Supposed to Be Wholesome but Ended in Glitter and Panic”. Because I have ideas.
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