A Stay-cation! Um...does it suck?

We are attempting the trendy stay-cation this week, having a vacation at home. So far the result has been mixed.
Yesterday we went to the Adventure Landing water park, and Husband and I were pleasantly surprised that it wasn’t a more appalling place to be. The pool water was actually cool and refreshing, considering the outside temperature was near apocalyptic, and the crowds didn’t arrive until we were ready to go. The Diva ran into a friend, so we didn’t see her for two hours. We only lost the Pterodactyl three times, and only had to pull the Tyrant’s head out of the water once. All in all it was a satisfying experience. It might have been an excellent experience if management would decide to sell alcoholic drinks, though I can see how that would dramatically increase everyone’s risk of drowning.
Today, however, Husband is working, so it was up to me to come up with the day’s activities. We went to the gym so I could think about it during my workout. I came up with a great idea -- we could watch a movie in Mommy’s bed then have a fashion show and take crazy pictures. We were all a little excited about this. But then I let the Diva carry an enormous bowl of popcorn to my room. A glass bowl. She tripped over the Disney princess suitcase the Tyrant uses to carry around important stuff, fell down and landed in a pile of shattered glass.
Her hands were covered in blood. Then I realized she had drawn tattoos all over her hands with red marker, so the blood was not so bad. But when I washed her hands I could see there were a bunch of teeny tiny shards of glass protruding from the cuts. Shit.
So I called Husband the paramedic. He said, “Shit.” So I called the doctor, and he said to bring her in because he had tweezers and a strong light and could pick out all the glass. Then Husband called back and said he was driving the fire engine over with the trauma bag.
“That seems extreme,” I said. But who am I to argue with the paramedic?
I put the three children on my bed and ordered them to stay there, and began to clean up the mess. But I couldn’t do much because I don’t know how to turn on the vacuum. (Have I mentioned that Husband has a clean floor fetish and does all the floor work himself?)
Within five minutes Husband pulled up in the gigantic ladder truck, which is used for rescuing people out of 10-story buildings when it’s not being used to pull teeny tiny shards of glass out of the hands of little girls. Husband leaped out of the truck in his official firefighting boots-pants outfit, complete with suspenders, and strutted to the front door, looking sort of hot. I had to tuck this tidbit of information to the rear of my brain since I was in a post-workout cloud of sweat, and was busy trying to act like I knew how to operate my own vacuum.
Husband removed all the glass from the Diva’s hand while she sniveled, swept up the glass and popcorn, showed me the on-button for the vacuum, kissed me goodbye and drove off in the fire truck.
Then the Tyrant ate a business card and the dog started puking up piles of mucus with grass in it.
That’s how today’s stay-cation has gone. No one’s in the mood for taking pictures at the moment, but I’ve demanded a 45-minute rest period for us all to regroup. That will take us closer to Happy Hour, which might make me more receptive to letting the children further destroy the living room by building a fashion show runway.
For now, the household seems content with some sippy-cups full of milk, SpongeBob Squarepants, and the promise of a swim if the weather holds out. By that definition, everyday is a stay-cation. Enjoy! Tomorrow, the zoo....