Icky sticky stuff

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That icky sticky stuff is only fit for heffalumps and woozles. So said Tigger. But he was talking about hunny and I am talking about Coca Cola. For some reason, my grocery store only sells canned coke in 12 packs. If I want a 6 pack I have to get bottles. Which I did, because I wasn't interested in a 12 pack, thank you very much. Richard's the only one who drinks coke and not all that often. This morning as I was leaving to drop Cary at "Extended School Year" (don't call it summer school), I grabbed an ice tea out of the garage refrigerator like I always do. Only things were not as expected. My little routine was blown out of the water. There was a broken coke bottle on the cement in front of the refrigerator and coke and glass all over the place. Now I'm a bit slow in the mornings, but not that slow. Earlier, inside, Cary had informed me that we were down to the last carton of milk. "Mom, you have to buy milk today," he said. And I do have to or his little world will come crashing down on him and all of us too. So, aha, Cary getting milk, broken Coke bottle. Light bulb! So I asked him, "Cary, did you break a bottle when you were getting milk this morning." 5 or 6 expressions flash across his face as he thinks this one over. "It was an accident, mom." "I know sweetie, but next time you need to come and tell me so that I have time to clean it up." "OK mom," he says, "I broke a bottle and you need to clean it up." Um, yeah, thanks... Sadly I just didn't have time to do the job. I had maybe a little more than 5 minutes to spare getting him to school. So I did what any good wife would do. I swept up the glass, poured water on the part that was outside the refrigerator and called the husband. After all, he's the neat freak, he gets home before I do and he cleans better than I do anyway. Last night, Richard was quite distraught. The darn ants had found the poundcake that his mother had made for his birthday. Fortunately he had wrapped some of it up and frozen it, but the b*stards got the rest. So we cleaned that up, but our little ant friends were still scampering around looking for something better despite all our spraying. So maybe the coke in the garage is a godsend of some sort. See, I figure it was just a matter of time before the ants found the pantry and got into some cereal or cookies or something that the kids had forgotten to close. Maybe they like Coke. I don't know about you, but I'd rather have ants in the garage than in the house anyway. I can hope... Do you have ants?