Accidental death

Let me tell you a story about today, that you are going to want to laugh at, but I promise you, it wasn't funny. I'll start it with a little set up. Our neighbors had a garage sale today, I didn't need a sample of shampoo or a used pair of shoes, so I stayed clear of the shopping extravaganza. The boys, however, decided to run over and see what they could find that might be worthy of a piggy bank raid. They came upon a snake, not a real one mind you, but a 7 foot stuffed animal that appears to have been won at a carnival or similar place with "quality" prizes. Mason decided that he HAD to have it, so he inquired as to the price. I was actually proud of him for that, he usually would go right for the "Can I have this" approach, but this time, he appeared ready to bargain. He isn't one to spend his money frivolously, no he'd rather spend mom and dad's apparent endless supply of the green stuff. He has asked me on several occasions if I could just write him a check? Kids these days, give me the money and I refuse to do anything to earn it. Anyhoo, the lady of the house decided that the $.50 she was going to get for it from someone else wasn't as big of a prize as a smile on a child's face, so she gave it to him. Hurray for us, more shit in the house, dad couldn't be happier. I know Marcy will say, "At least it didn't cost anything." Yeah, that makes it better. (HUGE sarcasm in previous sentence.) So they bring "snakey" as he is now known, into the house and proceed to fight over him, big surprise. There is finally a lull in the commotion, so I head upstairs to work on a few things. Not 5 minutes after I get upstairs, I hear crying, which isn't unusual in our house. It's either Makiah because Max is sitting too close to him, or it's Mason because one or both of his brothers have done something as tragic as move a toy from one place to another. I ignore the crying. Now I hear the crying coming up the stairs, but I can't tell who it is, and I continue to ignore the crying. It's getting louder and coming to my door and SURPRISE, it's Mason. I try to calm him down and ask him why he is crying. He says "I was mad at Max, so I hit him and jklshfiyihvuirhfiowhguwfiwhowjh." Yeah, I didn't get that either, so I asked, "You hit Max?" He says yes. Funny thing, Max isn't crying, so this story is bound to get better. Mason continued, "I got mad at Max, so I hit him and snakey broke open." HOLY SHIT, that can't be good. I run down stairs with Marcy right behind me and what do I see when I get to the bottom of the stairs? The front room covered in little Styrofoam beads, that of course, 2 of the boys are scooping up and pouring onto other toys, chairs and each other. You maybe asking yourself, "Where are the pictures of that." Well, you can go to hell. I had only one thought at that time and that was to stop the bleeding, from snakey of course. I grabbed him up and squeezed the neck back together to stop the flow of static, powder, Styrofoam beads. I asked Marcy, rudely I'm sure (sorry baby), for a body bag (aka garbage bag) to place the remains of snakey inside. During this waiting period, Mason is standing next to me crying that he wants to keep snakey and put all of these beads back into him. My response of choice would have been, not a chance sparky, but that would have fueled the crying, so I refrained. I don't know my exact words, but again, they were probably rude (sorry buddy). All I saw was that I was going to spend the next 2 hours cleaning an area I hadn't anticipated cleaning today. My mind works in steps, you do this, then this, then this, until you get the desired result. I had all ready done step one, stop the bleeding. Step two was to dispose of the body, which I did when the body bag arrived. Step three, de-foam the 2 kids covered from head to toe in little, teeny tiny, itsy bitsy, little foam beads. Did I mention they had static? I believe I did, so out comes the vacuum. You may have a dog or a cat that likes to be vacuumed, but I can tell you that Makiah and Max are a bit too ticklish for that. I had to hold Makiah with one hand, vacuum him with the other, all while yelling at Max to stop throwing handfuls of beads around. I finally got Makiah done and started the same procedure with Max, this time yelling at Makiah not to get back into the mess. With both boys relatively clean, I sent them into the other room with the still crying Mason. I start vacuuming up the beads on the floor, when I hear Max behind me crying. Why you may ask? Because he wants a toy that is yet to be uncovered in the front room that now looks like the North Pole. I'm an asshole, so I deny the request, which is like throwing gasoline on the fire, he is up in flames. I don't care, I have bigger problems to deal with than another tantrum, I'm so used to those they just roll off me. Makiah has now decided that he wants to help me clean, but I've decided that I have all ready cleaned him off once and was unwilling to do it again, request denied. Now we have fit number 3 going on in the other room, Mason because snakey is dead, Max because I refuse a search and rescue of a plastic dinosaur and Makiah because I refuse to clean up another mess, both him and when he "helps" me clean. I'm happy to say that the room is as clean as its going to get. I know we will be finding those damn beads for the rest of my life, but there is only so much a guy can do. I hope you enjoyed a look into my day, but if you laughed at any of this, I hope the same thing happens to you, then see how funny you think that shit is.