The type of terror only a mother can appreciate

I took the kids swimming this afternoon. We got back and ate a late lunch. I got F to bed and then decided to jump in the shower myself. I left C perfectly content watching cartoons and eating apple chips.

25 minutes later, and I was getting dressed, C walks in my bedroom. She has this dark brown ring around her lips, dribbling down her chin and neck, and finally coming to rest on the front of her shirt. She is holding a cup. Not a sippy with a lid - a plain old plastic cup. She has this HUGE smile on her face.

C: Mom! Look what I did!?! I made chocolate moo milk all by myself and I didn't even spill!
M: Oh . . . . . . (i'm pretty much speechless at this point while visions of what my kitchen looks like, and possibly the living room carpet). "Um, C? Can I see that please?"
C: sure!

I take the cup from her and in it is this super dark brown, almost black, sludge. Its like the consistency of molasses. I take the cup and C's hand and we make our way downstairs - all the while I'm hoping against hope that my kitchen won't look like Willa Wonka's factory blew up.

I enter the kitchen. Quickly scan for the exact location of moo milk making. I can see the stool that was pushed over the cupboard where the Nestle Quik is kept. I notice the fridge is open and the milk container is on the floor. Then, I see it. Right there on the kitchen rug. This mini Mt. Everest of Nestle Quik. A bit was spread on the floor as well. But, that was it. Thank goodness. I pointed out the chocolate powder mountain to C - and she just said, "oh, that part was an accident."

I realize this could have been a lot worse. I watered down C's sludge with a bit more milk, put the lid on her cup and sent her on her merry way. Wow, disaster averted.