In my household, I have declared a war on crumbs.
Everywhere I look, crumbs seem to find their way onto the floor, the couch, the kitchen counter. No matter that the kids are not allowed to eat anywhere in the home other than the dining room table, crumbs continue to find a place.
I think that there are crumbs all over America that just wait for my kids to walk by. They attach themselves like ticks, waiting to hitch a ride until they can find their next meal. This must explain the fact that after a snack of Jell-O in the dining room (Jell-O!!!) I am still left with cereal crumbs on the living room floor.
It has gotten so bad that my friends are concerned. As I frantically swept up the latest batch of crumbs that appeared in between the time I answered the door and invited my friend to sit, she had to intervene. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I know there weren’t any crumbs when I first arrived.” See! Proof. I’m not crum-lusional.
Like it or not, I’ve had to somewhat adapt to all of these crumbs.
I prefer the sweep-bust method. I first sweep up all of the crumbs that I can find into a corner. This limits their escape route. Next, with one eye on the crumbs to make sure they stay put (they have been known to play tag football with a thick-socked toddler who gets a sudden urge to walk through the middle of the pile) I reach for the dustbuster, which is always charging and always ready. I quickly bust the crumbs and in a turn-slide move that would make many pro wrestlers proud, I empty the dustbuster in the garbage can.
One small crumb for man, one giant sweep for womankind.