Conventional wisdom tells us there is no use crying over spilt milk. But when you add orange juice, ice water, and a Capri Sun to the mix, it's enough to make a saint weep. And as of the latest accident, I can say - with witnesses to back me up - that I'm no saint.
I forgot the coffee! Ainsley dumped a cup - left within her reach by yours truly - all over a stack of books.
To be honest, the orange juice happened almost two weeks ago, but I'm still dealing with a little PTSD as it involved about 15 ounces of o.j. dumped by my blond-headed cherub all over my sister's sisal rug - not really washable and not cheap, either. Oy!
The rest of the accidents have occurred in rapid succession under my own roof. I know there will come a day when I will walk across my floor without getting stuck or hearing that oh-so-familiar crunch, crunch, crunch!
That day is clearly not today.
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