My head is pounding as I recall the events of the last thirty minutes. Yours would be too, I suspect.
Lets see...I was asleep in my room when Zion woke up early from his nap with a bad diaper. He smelled so bad that I decided my full bladder would have to wait. After the diaper change, I headed to the laundry room with the soiled diaper, holding an under-rested and screaming Zion in my arms. On my way past the kitchen, I noticed the ground beef I was thawing on the sink.
I get my beef ground at the market, which gets tossed into a cheap plastic baggie for keeping. The baggie was leaking thawing blood into the equally cheap paper bowl it was sitting in (the paper products here need to be individually rinsed to rid them of factory dust before using, but that's a whole different story).
Anyway, I knew I had to get the meat into the fridge before it got too warm. Balancing Zion on one hip, I tried to slide the bowl onto the bottom shelf next to the eggs, when the bowl's edge caught on something and began to tip. As I saw thick red blood oozing down the side of the fridge, I panicked, overcorrected, and somehow managed to splatter blood all over me, the condiment door, the floor, and the laundry behind the door (amazingly).
So for the next 15 minutes, I sopped cow's blood from my entire laundry room, then proceeded to wash everything until the butcher smell was replaced by lemon fresh. I was crying (of course) and one by one teddy bears were brought to me by concerned little boys.
Finally, after it was all over, I washed my hands, took two Tylenol, put in a movie for the kids, and sat down on the toilet for that pee I never took. Now it's just about time to pull that meat back out and begin browning it on the stove. I think I'll use both hands this time.