Chewing Gum is Evil

I have a rule in my house that is suspiciously similar to a rule that my mom had in her house when I was growing up.  It goes like this:

No Gum in the House or Car.

I can’t stand gum.  The smell of it, the sound of little mouths chomping it, the sound of big mouths smacking it, finding it in little chewed up chunks in the most unexpected places.  I have had this rule for several years now.  Approximately the same number of years that I have had children.  I lightened up on this rule for a while, and you know what happened?  The Monkey had to get gum cut out of her hair leaving a seriously short chunk in front that nothing but time could cure.

This week alone, I have found three (THREE!) pieces of chewed up gum on my kitchen counter.  Disgusting.  I have told the Bunny more times than I can count to “Throw that gum away!”  Is this a losing battle?  Will I forever be picking chewed gum out of carpet?  Off sofa cushions?

And as a final thought, Is this the final step in the transformation of me becoming my mother?

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