Our first mistake was probably agreeing to the "complimentary in-home, no-obligation water test."
Frustrated by years of mineral deposits, rust stains, allergic skin issues and more various and sundry water-related complaints, we uncharacteristically agreed to let an euphemistically named "water technician" (read: tenacious salesman) come into our house and test our water. This guy had no idea what was in store for him last Saturday afternoon.
He arrived, told us it was crucial that both my husband and I be there for the entire duration of his tests and began the sales pitch of the century. While Lindy and I sat patiently through the second hour of an intense and dramatic demonstration of how hard our water was (which was not a shock) the children were -- unbeknownst to any of us -- preparing their unintentional counterattack.
We were watching him drop five drops of this and four drops of that into a beaker full of our tap water when my husband stood up and said, "I don't hear the kids. Hang on a second." He then promptly left me alone with the salesman -- I'm sorry, I mean water technician -- to go look for the kids.
Five minutes may not sound like a long time, but when you're staring down a stranger with a beaker in your kitchen, it feels like an eternity. I also excused myself to look for both my husband and my children.
I saw four of my five kids coming back up the hill on the edge of our property. Following shortly after them was their father helping our bleeding-from-the-knees fourth-born, Leif, climb the hill. Leif made quite the entrance into the house. He screeched his little head off while I washed his poor knees with antiseptic wash and offered him "Star Wars" bandages that he wanted to put on himself, thankyouverymuch! He stuck copious amounts of bandages all over his knees and stationed himself on the couch in the next room.