Why is my sugar shaker half empty and the kitchen floor covered with what looks like freshly fallen snow, you ask? Well...let me back up and tell the story from the beginning.
Last Wednesday the girls and I were visiting my grandparents and near the end of our visit A seemed to have aquired a fever. By the time we got home and they were in bed for a nap (about 3:15) I heard coughing that sounded very different. Poor little A had been sick all over herself, her bed and even Blue Baby. This continued through the rest of the evening.
We counted ourselves lucky that the rest of us had avoided it...until last night. Daddy was making dinner, a very smelly curry dish that started with smoke filling the kitchen (an ominous sign) and E kept saying "I need to go to bed." Huh? That never happens, which should have been my first clue. Shortly afterward, she announced that she too was sick and the carpet would indeed pay for it. So dinner was waylaid and Daddy took over the carpet cleaning duties for the next hour. Oh and the icing on the cake was when the dirty water holder of the carpet cleaning machine was accidentally spilled onto the kitchen counter, down the front of the dishwasher and on to the floor, all because the phone rang (Memorial Blood Center wanting another deposit). What more could happen, dare I ask?
So today as I am gingerly caring for the girls, hoping for the best and fearing the worst, I put them down for a morning nap knowing they could use some extra rest. When I went in to get them up I was greeted by a naked child (that would be A) stting in a wet bed, happy as a clam. Thankfully replacement Blue Baby did not share in the wetness. So after another bath, while I am dressing E downstairs, A wanders upstairs to the kitchen. We hear "clank...clank" and I fear the worst. You see moving kitchen chairs over to the counter has become a right of passage if you will, from innocent toddlers to mischevious little girls. As I round the corner, what should my eyes fall upon, but a very surprised little girl, sitting on a chair in front of the stove holding my sugar shaker upside down (a reproduction vintage style from the Diner days, very big and easy to pour, need I say more) and watching the sweet yummy white grains fall through her fingers.
So what does the beginning of this story have to with the end? Not much, only to say that I can't seem to catch a break this week. And hopefully very soon I will be able to remember this series of events and laugh.