Sometimes raising boys is just… frustrating… mind boggling… and funny.
All at once.
We have a son. He’s 11. He has earned the nickname of The King of Spill.
I kid you not. This boy can spill anything. Anywhere. Any time.
We have rules because of this kid. No eating or drinking in the living room. No drinks at the table when we’re doing school.
But it’s hopeless because this kid can spill anything. Anywhere.
What is this, you ask? An entire GALLON of milk. Yesterday he was carrying two gallons and dropped one on the floor and it split down the side. He spent half an hour with the shop vac and a mop, cleaning this up.
And another 15 minutes mopping up a 16-ounce Monster that spilled while we were playing cribbage tonight… it basically exploded all over himself, two chairs, and the entire floor under his side of the table.
I’m tellin’ ya. The King of Spill.