Today, Joseph decided he was a big boy.
I try to encourage this feeling in him. Usually. I let him help me with the laundry by handing me clothes to go in the washer, one sock at a time. I let him help me change Stephen’s diaper by wiping the baby’s bottom. He often finds Stephen’s pacifier or a toy to cheer him up when he’s crying. He has some chores — feeding the fish, picking up trash and throwing it away, putting the used bottles in the sink. So, he thinks he’s pretty big.
Mommy was busy making a bottle for Stephen, who thought he was dying. Joseph came to me at that point and asked for some juice. "Not yet, baby," I said, "I will get you some in a minute." He then disappeared. Knowing how his little mind works, warning bells should have gone off.
"Oh," he surely thought to himself, "I’m BIG. I can get it MYSELF."
The next thing I heard was the glass pitcher bouncing off the kitchen floor and gatorade splashing off the walls. I raced to the kitchen to find Joseph, devastated, sitting in a pool of orange gatorade. Thankfully, the pitcher hadn’t broke, so he wasn’t hurt. But the look on his face was indescribable. Somewhere between horror and disappointment.
I picked him up, rinsed him off, then we had a talk about waiting when Mommy says "Wait." We also talked about how he wasn’t big enough to do everything on his own yet, and that meant he was to stay out of the fridge. He nodded several times, his bottom lip quivering.
So, Joseph learned a lesson, and I got an orange kitchen
Posted by Mommy