MI(gag)LK.

Kyler and Mae latched on to the gallon of milk with both hands (that's both hands EACH, for a total of FOUR hands).  They pulled in opposite directions, arguing about, "I had it first!" and "Give it here!  I need it NOW!"  Prompted by the argument, I walked into the kitchen. As I did, Mae released her hands.  Kyler and the milk both toppled to the floor in a white, liquidy mess. 

If you know anything about me, you know that I hate milk with a passionate passion.  It looks gross.  It smells gross.  It tastes gross.  It makes me gag.  I gag when I wash dirty milk glasses, regardless of whether they have been rinsed or not.  I gag sometimes just watching somebody take a sip of milk.  Even the sound of the word 'milk' disgusts me.  And you don't want to get me started on people who pronounce it "melk", trust me.

So, not only were they in trouble, they were in MILK (gag) TROUBLE.  And by the looks on their faces, they knew it.  They both sprinted to their bedrooms before the anger had a chance to travel from my brain to my voice box.  I looked at the milk spilled all over the floor and had to cover my nose and mouth.  My nose, so I wouldn't smell it.  My mouth, just in case there were milk particles in the air that I might accidentally inhale. 

I can't tell you how thankful I am for my dogs today, never afraid to lick the floor and anything that might be on it, just trusting that I wouldn't mislead them.  Yet, it's time to face the facts.  Summer vacation is really here and it's back with a vengeance. 

Eighty-four days and counting...

And just a sidenote:  Milk Trouble and Good Trouble are archenemies.  Don't let their shared last name deceive you; they are completely unrelated to each other.  They wouldn't be caught dead in the same room, let alone on the same planet.