Really regretting that momentary lapse in attention

The other night when the boys came home from daycare, I was in the process of putting together a Very Nutritious Supper for them: Great Value ravioli, sliced apples and milk.

I'd just put a can of ravioli on the electric can opener when Nicholas banged through the kitchen door and ran over to give me a hug. Of course I love the hugs, so I bent down and hugged him fiercely, then asked him about his day. About that time, I heard a loud CRASH and felt something wet hit the top of my head, my shoulder and my back.

I turned around to see that the can opener had completed its circuit of the can top, then dropped it 18 inches onto the granite countertop (hence, the CRASH), which apparently caused the approximately two cups of tomato sauce in the can to explode onto me, the countertop and the floor.

I grabbed some paper towels, asked everyone to stay still (YOU TOO, JAKEY), and started to wipe up the floor before too much of it could be tracked into other rooms. I wish I'd had the presence of mind to take pictures of it, because you WOULD NOT BELIEVE how much sauce had splashed out of that little can.

Anyway, I finally got it all cleaned up, and we continued on with our evening. As I was washing the dishes later, Scout came over and meowed up at me. I looked down at him, and I realized that he wasn't looking AT me; he was looking PAST me, up at the ceiling.



Seriously, it looked like something out of CSI or Law & Order. It was like a blood spatter pattern.



I grabbed one of our bar chairs and pulled it over and worked on the spots with a damp cloth. Within five minutes, it looked as good as new.


OR NOT. Here's the problem with trying to clean a popcorn ceiling: you can't do it because water breaks the ceiling down. That nice new dark spot on the far left is where it popped a piece completely off. And now all the red spots are sort of orangey with dirty little halos.

I think a trip to Home Depot for some ceiling paint is in my future.