you make lemonade, right?
That's what I did. A whole gallon.
And then Drew asked me for some. My response was to wait just a minute, while I was in the middle of something (According To Jim, but that's beside the point).
Having inherited his patience from me, he whined a little and said he could pour his own.
I obliged with the all too common, "DO NOT spill it. Do you understand me?"
You all know where this is going, right?
Drew carefully poured his glass of lemonade. When the sugary substance made it to the top of the over priced Rain Forest Cafe ... he kept pouring.
And pouring.
And pouring.
HELLO?
Then startled that he was doing such a thing, he shuttered in disbelief and the pitcher left his hands and the entire gallon spread over my freshly scrubbed kitchen floor.
Yes. Big Daddy came home from work today and cleaned all the floors, before he sped off with Jake to ball practice.
My reaction to this "little accident"?
I haven't had one yet.
I cleaned it all up with a smile plastered on my face and my eyes wide open. Drew is still in the corner muttering, "You're scaring me, Mom? Mom? Are you okay? You are really really scaring me!"
Not a word has been said.
I don't know if I should blow.
Say I told you NOT to spill.
Tell the kids they are slowly killing me.
Or just go lock myself in the bedroom and not come out until morning.
What would you do?