I'm Not Crying Over Spilled Milk!

Remember in that first blog that I told you that you would laugh, cry, and be glad you don't live here?  Take your pick of one or more of the above.  I had just gone grocery shopping and asked Bethlee if she would please carry down the gallon of milk and put it in the refridgerator in the basement.  (OK, I know you know the rest of the story, but humor me and please continue reading.)  At the bottom of the stairs, yes, she dropped the gallon of milk whereupon contact of the plastic milk jug to the laminate flooring caused the jug to split open thus spilling milk on the floor.   I don't know if you have ever spilled a gallon of anything, but a gallon of milk on a laminate floor will spread waaaayyy out.  (Sidenote:  whenever there is any emergency in our family, we all start yelling, "Red Alert, Red Alert!")  I was in the kitchen when I heard the emergency signal sounding from Steve and several children.  Thump, thump, thump!  Up the stairs they came yelling for towels as quickly as I could.  So, I did what any sound thinking homemaker would do, I grabbed the load of clean towels out of the dryer so they could mop up the mess.  (And when I wash towels, I don't wash one or two, I wash ten or twelve.)  The mess was promptly cleaned up and I put the towels back into the washer and started the load again.  So, I'm not crying over spilled milk, I'm crying over never-ending laundry, I'm laughing because it IS funny, and I live here because my mother won't let me come live with her!