Anyway, I went upstairs to get a jumper and while I was in my bedroom The Toddler must have realised that climbing on the table to look at the milk was a damn sight more interesting than playing with his train set. And for extra value, The Toddler decided to push the 6 pint plastic container off the table with as much force as his 18month old arm could muster up. The result - the plastic exploded on impact with the floor leaving 6 pints of milk saturating the kitchen. Forget the volcanic ash, a room drenched in volcanic milk is much more hazardous to life as we know it. (well my life anyway, I'm not stuck in the Dominican Republic am I, but The Isle Of Groundhog Day). I came downstairs to find that not only had my kitchen and contents been decorated in a paint called Organic FullFat but also The Toddler was jumping Peppa-Pig styleeee in a milky puddle.
I froze on the spot. I would be utterly rubbish in a crisis. It took a good ten minutes for The Baby Brain to reboot and activate. I scooped up The Toddler and strait-jacketed him into his highchair then ran upstairs to grab many towels to clear up the mess. Which took forever. There was milk everywhere, even in places that I didn't know existed like The Oven and The Cleaning Products Cupboard.
Now, I'm a great believer (although not a practitioner) in the saying 'if you can't change your situation then you can change your attitude towards it'. The extra cleaning up I had to do today could have ruined the whole week. But instead I realised that I had an interesting story to tell at the park after school and, hey, material for tonight's blog.
I guess there's no use crying over spilt milk.
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