Sparkle Me Not

Mopping up after some poop shot up and out the back end of my 17-month old's diaper?  Bring it.

Working for two hours straight to settle down my 4-year-old from an epic tantrum over a pair of striped socks?  I got it.

Trying to clean that stale milk stink out of a sippy cup straw, for fear of letting some robust bug enter our boy's body?  Can do.

Handling doo-doo and tears can certainly be taxing, but it's par for the course.  So what could possibly be worse than all those tasks?  Easy:  cleaning up glitter.

The stuff drives me insane.  The fact that I have a 4-year-old daughter is part of the problem.  Her Princess Phase started early and is still going strong.  It's filled with sparkly figurines, iridescent party clothes and pink ballet shoes -- all adorned with glitter galore.  Add to that the glitter artwork made with glitter ink and glitter glue that comes home with her from school, and you have a whole lot of the shiny substance.

I've read that the use of glitter goes back to prehistoric times.  It was reportedly used to decorate caves, and early humans are said to have put it on cosmetically.  Oh, how I wish it hadn't made the leap to modernity.  Or at least had stayed with the age of Glitter Rock.  Ah, the days of my early youth!

Glitter history has it that an American machinist invented the present-day version in the 1930s or '40s by repurposing scrap metal.  Nowadays, it's everywhere.

Glitter pieces get drizzled onto the most remote areas of our home.  I can spot light dancing off a tiny particle of it from quite a distance.  Those are of course the bits that I don't find stuck to my skin or clothes, which can make for an interesting day at work.

I should've prefaced this with a pseudo-OCD admission.  I have issues when it comes to clean living, and I'm not referring to booze or drugs.  I need order in my life, and I need things to be clean.  Not spotless, mind you -- just very, very clean.

When I was single, I considered my domestic skills one of my most attractive selling points;  I can accomplish a whole lot of clean-up in just a few precious stolen minutes. 

But glitter has become my white whale.  I've tried to institute a glitter ban in our household.  I don't completely deny my child of her love for all princessly things, but if you've ever handled the stuff, you know that a little bit is all it takes to visit untold long-term horror on your home.  I recently found a small silver piece from a princess dress my daughter wore at least six months ago stuck to a t-shirt that I've worn and laundered easily a dozen times since.

The tenacity of glitter is unreal.  I always find it unbelievable that despite passing through the USPS's highly mechanized and physical system of automated machinery and hand delivery, some cards containing the shimmering menace still reach our mailbox with glitter on the outside of the envelopes.  How is that possible?

My wife of course thinks I'm insane for attempting to recover and chuck each and every minuscule piece of glitter that gets loose from the decorated items that breach my security.  Check that:  She thinks I'm insane, but she gives me a free pass.  That's what spouses who rock do.  I'm a lucky man, because it's not possible for me to rewire this part of my being.  Besides, she gets a pretty darn clean household.

While I'm sure there are at least a few folks out there who are in my camp, I understand that many people love glitter.  It looks fun to them, and makes them feel happy.  I get it, I really do.  But I need it to stay out of my home, or at least to stay stuck in the '70s.


So what's the worst clean-up job you've had as a parent?