spills.

This is orange juice. An gigantic jug of spilled orange juice.

Hard to look at, but totally clean up-able.

Jake cried and cried and cried and cried, because while he was helping to bring in the groceries, he set the orange juice on the counter, and it fell. He watched it seep out the cracked bottom of the gigantic jug sitting on the floor. And he cried.

Before we cleaned it up, I sighed one of those spill sighs, told Jakey it was okay-he could stop crying and crying and crying, and then I took a picture. Because of this:

When Jakey is 17 and Princess Ahpios breaks up with him for that other guy, and Jake cries and cries and cries and cries...I can show him the orange juice picture.

Remember the spill, Jake? I'll say. There was orange juice everywhere. It took every clean towel we had to soak up that orange juice; and even after that, it took two days of mopping to get rid of the stickiness and three more days of finding orange juice on the curtains and walls and windows. It was a huge mess. You cried and cried and cried and cried.

Then he'll nod. Remembering the dripping citrus smelling beach towels he carried to the laundry room. Then I'll say...

That was a bad spill. You felt pretty rotten. But we cleaned it up, eh? Every spill is clean up-able, Jake. It seems unbearable when you're staring at the never-ending pool of sticky orange juice, but every spill is clean up-able.

And he'll start to get it. But he'll be mad at me because he doesn't want to clean up the spill because he really likes Aphios, and thinks he might even love her, and he really wants to be that stupid other guy, and he just wants to cry and cry and cry and cry.

So we'll get out the towels, and spend two days - or two months cleaning up the sticky mess. And Jake will eventually feel better.

And that's when he'll laugh at the orange juice picture.

Until the next spill.