Spilled Milk

It’s been one of those days.  You know what I mean. The little one woke up at 4:45 this morning.  She went back to sleep, but her brother and sister woke up shortly after her.  They climbed into our bed and effectively pushed me out. I sought refuge on the couch which had been taken over by a snoring dog.  I went to the kids’ room and crawled into my son’s bed.  As soon as I was comfortable, they came tromping in, wanting their beds back. I returned to my bed and managed to fall back asleep.

The rest of the was an unending sequence of spills.  Mostly milk.  My daughter dumped her milk off the counter because cups cannot be more than two inches from the edge of the counter. The little one chucked her sippy cup on the floor, shooting milk everywhere. Aren’t the covers supposed to prevents spills? Then she wedged her bottle between the wall and her bed, pointing down so that milk dripped along the wall behind the baseboard to the floor. My daughter dripped her applesauce on her chair and the floor. I boiled over the macaroni.

I know you’re not supposed to cry over spilled milk, but I was certainly getting close.

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