Hazardous housework

I have just spent the last 60 minutes confirming why I have a cleaning lady, and why I don't clean when Blake is awake. (Faith, on the other hand, can now do things like wash the windows.)

We have a small picnic table in our great room, on top of a rug, where Blake has snacks and eats breakfast every morning. The rug is basically to capture the food bits and pieces that fall on the floor as we don't have a handy dog to clean them up for us, and we have hard wood that allows dirt to travel everywhere. After a couple of days, we could feed a German Shepherd with the rice krispies. So I try to shake the rug out into the sink and sweep up.

Today, Blake decided that playing crash-up derby with this big truck into the broom and piles of dirt was a "fun" game. My ankles barely survived the experience, and I now have several blue streaks on the floor that used to be blueberries. Humph!

Then, I just got all the playdough toys picked up, for the second time, when he walked up beside me and dumped the whole bucket on the floor again! Gah!

Finally, he spilled his milk at dinner and, while I was getting a towel, decided that splashing in the white puddle with is fork would be fun. Blah!

My cleaning lady just called and she's coming early next week.