It feels like our house is never organized. Toys and random items seem to be scattered about on a regular basis. The only time that I feel like our house is truly clean is immediately following a visit from the cleaning ladies. It's a wonderful feeling that goes away all too quickly. But, I'm coming to grips with it. And I'm accepting the fact that I love our crazy life and having a crazy house often goes hand-in-hand with that. So, we're good for now.
And, yesterday was no exception. There was no sign of the cleaning crew, so our house was in it's normal state of chaos. And Connor was drinking some apple juice. My laptop was sitting in one of it's normal spots, on the coffee table. Right next to the iPad. And yes, you can see where this story is going.
My laptop apparently wasn't very thirsty or it just didn't like apple juice. So it's out of commission. Dead, deceased, kicked the bucket. What a wuss - crapping out on me just because it didn't like apple juice. WhatEV. And apple juice is good for you (we buy the brands suggested by Dr. Oz to be at least as safe as the water we drink)! Jeez, Louise, Mr. Computer. Get a grip.
Five or six years ago I had a similar incident happen. While using my laptop, I decided to enjoy an adult beverage and ended up - - and I'm embarrassed to now admit this - - crying as I heard the computer literally squeal and squawk to it's death as it gulped down some of my Bud Light. I cried. I think I may have even squealed and screamed as much as my laptop did. It was pretty pathetic on both of our parts.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I realize that the obvious lesson here is that I need to put my computer out of harms way - that is clear. And no beverages - adult or otherwise - within a 10 foot radius is another good recommendation.
Life isn't the same as it was just a few years ago. Apple juice, rather than beer, seems to be the most popular beverage at my house. And this time, as my priorities in life have been upgraded, I didn't cry over spilled apple juice. And I try not to cry when I spill some of Blake's breast milk that I worked so hard to pump...but that's a work in progress. Baby steps.