A Matter of Spatter- Part 2

I admit to already being on the cranky side when I sat a bowl of yogurt in front of Jacob this afternoon. Shortly before snack time I was up in the attic, putting up some boxes of clothes and getting out some clothes {it occurred to me last night that I better get some baby clothes ready...}. It was hot up there. And I didn't label my boxes of clothes, not too smart when not only do you have numerous sizes of clothes in boxes but also two genders to sort through. Take note, mom's of newborns. Label the clothes when you put them away.

To make matters worse, as I was setting the things I wanted by the attic doorway, I moved an old box of business files and the stupid cardboard banker's box collapsed releasing a torrent of files and papers onto the floor. It wasn't pretty and neither was I by the time my hot and sweaty self made it out of the attic.  I will never use a cardboard banker's box again.

Then there's the bowl of yogurt. I don't know what Jacob was doing, I was busy fixing Kaylen a bowl of cottage cheese, but the next thing I knew there was a full bowl of yogurt on the floor. Splattered everywhere. I just stood there, silently fuming. Rolling my eyes. Gritting my teeth.

But then, my small boy in his small voice said, "I'm sorry I make a mess, Mom". And although I was mad and hot and sweaty, I couldn't be mad at my baby boy, who after all is just three. I got a rag and went to work and Jacob told me I was the best mom in the world and I was doing a good job and went on and on. It's hard to stay mad at someone who compliments you so profusely.

It did get a little annoying when he kept telling me I missed a spot. I'm sure I missed a lot of spots which I will continue to find for the next days and weeks. Maybe even months.

Jacob finished his new bowl of yogurt and I was on my hands and knees cleaning the floor and I got to thinking that my reaction to his accident was wholly unjustified. He is a small child, a toddler practically, who had a little spill and it was just an accident. Then I started to sniffle. Poor little guy.

Let kids be kids. They will make messes, they will have accidents, they will be silly. But would you really want your three year old to act like he's 5 or 6? Not me. That will come soon enough. For now, I want him to embrace his three's with all that it entails: dirty feet and fingernails, accidents in the middle of the night, bumps and bruises, saying embarrassing things at the wrong time and place, growing like a weed and looking like a nerd in short pants, fully and completely holding my heart in his chubby little hands.

As for the splatter on the floor, suddenly it's just not such a big deal anymore.