Ella
“s**t, s**t, s**t,” Alexander muttered, scrambling to grab some rags from the supply closet.
I dropped my bag and the crib part on the dresser and rushed to help him. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just paint.”
But the paint seemed to have a mind of its own. Within moments of spilling, it had somehow already spread halfway across the floor and begun to seep into the hardwood.
We spent the next twenty minutes trying to clean up the mess, but somehow we only made it worse. Every time we thought we had it contained, more paint seemed to appear. Alexander accidentally stepped in it and tracked green footprints across half the room. I knelt down to scrub at a particularly stubborn spot and managed to get paint all over my shirt sleeves.
“This is hopeless,” I said with a si
