The Fire

The Fire

My 7-year-old is smart, clever, and sharp as a tack. He doesn’t miss much. When adults are talking, he wants in. He wants to know what adults are saying, what everything means, and how things relate to his world.  (This description makes me picture an always-proper kid wearing glasses, button-up shirt, bow-tie, and neatly combed hair. That is not my son. He’s a typical 7-year-old boy who likes ridiculous jokes, gross things, and sports. He’s my Athlete.) One evening, I was cooking dinner as my Athlete was finishing up his homework nearby. I was cooking hamburgers in the oven. I had them under the broiler. It was pretty fatty meat, so the grease was splattering quite a bit. I checked on the burgers, thinking they should be getting close to done. When I opened the oven door, I was met with flames. Don’t picture this:   The flames were small, limited to the tray that the burgers were sitting on. It was a small flame. It was manageable. I knew exactly what to do. I didn’t panic. I just calmly said aloud to myself, “Oh my. I’ve got a fire.” Those words put my Athlete into action. He rose from his chair and said, “Whoa!” I wasn’t moving super fast. I was trying to get hot pads out and get the tray out of the oven. My Athlete watched quietly for a minute. Then he boldly and confidently said, “You have to cover it with something.” In my mind I said in a snippy tone, “I know! I’m getting to it!” But my lips stayed shut tight. I grabbed a nearby...
The Broken Mug

The Broken Mug

The joy of a clean floor I had just mopped the floor. And washed the front of the cabinets. And cleaned under the cabinets Not often do I wash under the cabinets, but once in a while, I do. And it was on this day… My 2-year-old -for whatever reason- grabbed my coffee cup and accidentally dropped it on the tile floor. The cup shattered. The coffee spilled. My little girl was upset. I moved into action quickly and calmly. I moved the upset child into the other room, and she got her clothes changed. I went back to the mess that was waiting for me.   Clean and repeat I could do a whole blog post just listing reasons why cleaning with young children is pointless. But this isn’t that type of post. While I was cleaning, my brain started listing reasons why this situation stunk. This mug was my favorite coffee mug. I used it almost every day. Now, it was shattered into a million pieces. I had just mopped the floor. A clean floor is awesome, wonderful, and beautiful. I love clean floors. So, while I was cleaning the spilled coffee, I was looking over at my still-wet mop leaning against the wall, thinking of all that time wasted earlier. I also thought, “Why do I take sugar in my coffee? This wouldn’t be quite so bad if it wasn’t getting sticky already. That dumb sugar in my coffee has made this mess a sticky mess. Ugh.” These little shards are going to cut someo—OW!   Put on a mental brake! I stopped myself from diving...