The kids have been attending VBS (Vacation Bible School) this week and today, they brought home those glow-in-the-dark bracelets. The Oriental Trading Company sells them and I suspect this is where the church got theirs. (When I taught VBS a couple of years ago, the director bought a lot of goodies from OTC as their prices are decent and you can buy in bulk).
Anywho, the kids and I are driving down the road and they are telling me a story that the director told them about a time she went to a concert. Someone had cut one of the bracelets open and started swinging it around. Well, I guess a glob of the liquid landed in her eye and she went rushing to the bathroom, in pain. She said when she got there, her eye glowed in the dark, but the pain was not worth the cool effect so the children should not to try to open the bracelets in anyway.
Unfortunately, when you tell my children not to do something, it’s a sure-fire way to ensure that they will. I’m not entirely sure how it happened. I don’t know if my son cut his open or if it sprung a leak…but somehow, I have glow-in-the-dark juice all over my walls in the bathroom. I have it on the floor and the mirror too. Oh and the toilet now glows a lovely shade of blue.
While I was doing my business on the toilet (because all moms know that we can’t have a moments peace in the bathroom), the kids came in and showed me what they did while I took a nap on the couch. My son turned off the light and I saw the lovely light show that was displayed like one of those rave clubs that has paint and blue lights. Then I looked at my son. His clothes were covered in glow-in-the-dark juice.
I have to give them credit — they didn’t try to drink it; although my son mentioned something about trying it back when he was in public school. Of course, I don’t know if that’s a tall tale because I’m pretty sure if he would have tried the glow-in-the-dark concoction that he would have complained of a tummy ache at least. But he didn’t. Unless I chose to block that part out; which is pretty likely. In order to preserve the nice moments that happen in our house with a precocious 9 year old little boy, I tend to block out the not so nice ones.