The Great Silent Scream: A Parenting Classic

You know that moment when you think, "Finally! Some peace and quiet!" and you sit down, armed with a hot cup of coffee (or tea, no judgment)? Your phone is in one hand, maybe you’re scrolling Pinterest, planning a DIY project you’ll never actually do. Your kids seem… dare I say it?… occupied. And you think, "I’ve made it. I’m living the dream."

Cue the chaos.

Just yesterday, I had one of these “peaceful” moments. Brittany and Blake were playing “vet,” which is code for “bandaid every stuffed animal in the house while ignoring the fact that Mom just cleaned the living room.” But hey, they were quiet. Seth was upstairs, likely toggling between chatting with his girlfriend, scrolling TikTok car videos, and squeezing in a quick game. The dogs, Duke and Duchess, were napping. All was well.

Then I heard it.

“MOMMMMMMMMMMM!”

Now, there are different types of “Mom” screams. There’s the “Mom, I can’t find my shoe” scream, the “Mom, I’m hungry” scream, and the “Mom, I’ve done something that will require insurance” scream. This was the latter.

I ran to the source of the scream, mentally calculating our deductible. Blake stood in the hallway, frozen like a deer in headlights, holding… wait for it… a glitter jar. The glitter jar. You know the one: the craft that starts as a fun Pinterest idea but ends with glitter in places you didn’t know existed. Here’s the kicker: I don’t even BUY glitter. I hate the stuff. I don’t like glittery cards, glitter decorations, or anything that promises a “sparkly touch.” This jar must have been a leftover relic from my old teaching supplies—a forgotten time capsule of bad decisions.

“What happened?!” I asked, already dreading the answer.

Blake pointed. The lid of the glitter jar was loose. No… not loose. OFF. And there, like a sparkling crime scene, was a pile of glitter so big it looked like a unicorn had exploded. And the trail of glitter? It was like Hansel and Gretel, but fabulous. It led all the way to Brittany, who stood in the living room, mid-hair flip, looking like she’d just returned from a rave.

“It’s not my fault!” she said immediately. A classic guilty statement.

“Not your fault? You’re sparkling like Edward Cullen in the sunlight,” I replied. (Do kids even get Twilight references anymore?)

So there I was, armed with a vacuum, a lint roller, and a prayer. Glitter isn’t just a craft supply; it’s a lifestyle. It’s FOREVER. I’m pretty sure I’ll still be finding glitter when I’m in a nursing home.

When the cleanup was mostly done (it’s never truly done), I finally sat back down. My coffee was cold. My Pinterest project had auto-refreshed to ads for cleaning supplies. Brittany and Blake were giggling again, plotting their next glitter escapade, no doubt.

And I thought, "Parenting isn’t about the moments of peace. It’s about the glitter explosions, the silent screams, and the stories you’ll tell for years to come."

So, cheers to the moms, dads, and caregivers who are perpetually finding glitter, wiping sticky handprints, and wondering how a five-minute “quiet” moment turned into a disaster. You’re not alone.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to Google how to get glitter out of a Yorkie’s fur. Because, yes… Duke got involved.

~ Mary

#MomLifeWithMary