Last week was a little bit rough.
To lessen the stress, I set up a couple of playdates.
It was all fun and games, until the people left.
Now I have a pile in my house of things that don't belong to me.
A pair of clothes?
And a plate.
Now the fun begins.
I have to keep my kids from playing with it.
If they do play with it, I have to hope they don't break it.
If it survives, then I have to locate it after it's played with.
After all of that, I have to remember who it belongs to.
I have to convince myself not to use it, like the wipes. Even though Spencer's had a ton of diarrhea and it's just sitting at my house, forgotten.
I have to talk myself out of justifying why I should be able to use it, I did, after all, feed them lunch and kept my cool as their two year old ate a sucker all over my house...
Then I need to put it in my car.
After which I have to remember to drop it off to the person who left it at my house.
Or hope that it doesn't get lost in the deep recesses of my car.
Or I have to keep it in my house until 'those' people come over.
And still remember to give it to them.
Which I can guarantee you won't happen.
And if, by chance, I do remember to give it back, they'll play it off like: 'Oh, we bought him a new one weeks ago, you can just keep it."
Listen, people, if you come over to my house, please don't leave anything behind, it will be better for you, for me, and for our friendship...