Misadventures

My husband dropped a half gallon of milk on the floor today. Sarah and Abby helpfully threw a few towels into the middle of the milk mess while DH ran for the carpet cleaner, to suck up the milk, forgetting that he last used it to suck up the chocolate milk that Carter upchucked all over the car. When he was done, the kitchen smelled like milk puke.

My husband's (visiting from Las Vegas) mother and I managed to mop up the rest of the milk and wipe it off of the table, island and chairs. The dog and Carter ran amuck, prancing around in the milk until  hubs caught them and put one in a crate and the other in his room.

I went into the laundry room to grab the wood cleaner and a mop, and in the process, knocked a can of black paint over. Paint splattered and spilled EVERYWHERE - all over the hickory floors, the dryer, the walls and, oh yes, the dog, who was in his crate, in the laundry room. Paint as far as the eye could see. On me. On my feet. On my pants. Cue Abby throwing another batch of towels onto the paint mess. Helping me, you know.

I managed to get it cleaned up, with no permanent harm done, other than to my pants, which I tossed into the trash. DH thought this was all hilarious, until I accidentally (I swear, it really was purely an accident) brushed up against him on my way to the shower, ruining his shirt. I scrubbed and scrubbed at the paint on my feet, but my feet are horribly dry right now and the paint would not come off, so I now look like I have some kind of exotic foot fungus and my french pedicure is looking very gothic.

Carter and I put together the caesar salad for dinner, from one of those salad mixes, and he squirted the caesar dressing out of the packet - and all over the front of my shirt. My somewhat new shirt, which (because of the grease in the dressing) now looks like I had some kind of really unpleasant nursing accident.

We (probably foolishly considering our string of accidents) made S'mores after dinner, roasting marshmallows around the backyard firepit, and it went off quite uneventfully. Of course later that night I found a candybar wrapper stuck to my bum. I found it after I'd been parading around the backyard talking to various friends and neighbors for a few hours, like, "hey look everyone, in case you were wondering why I'm not having more success in my weight loss efforts, I've just decided to helpfully glue the freaking candybar wrapper right to my butt."

"Exciting afternoon," my father-in-law said.

Yeah. Something like that, anyway.