The Little Things

        I hear ice and water hitting the kitchen floor, she’s at it again, pressing down the pedals on the refrigerator door, laughing so hard I think she might hyperventilate.  It’s contagious and I start giggling too.  I throw down a towel and take a picture to send to her Daddy at work.  This is just one example.

            Some days I feel like I’m a broken record, “Honey please be careful”, “no ma’am”, “I don’t think so, is that yours?”  I feel like I just squash fun all day, I know the fireplace poker is really tempting and slamming the cabinets just seems awesome but there are some obvious safety lessons to be taught.  But the messes, the things that won’t hurt and only take a load of laundry and 15 minutes to clean up, I can let happen.

            We can feel cooped up here at the house, and my day may go by a little easier if I keep the messes contained and trail she leaves to a minimum.  But that keeps her from exploring and discovering here within our own house.  It also challenges the way she was made to learn, by doing.  If I reprimanded her for every little thing, I would be cheating her out of experiencing little life lessons and undermining budding self-confidence.

            Don’t get me wrong, she isn’t allowed to climb the stairs unassisted and there are baby gates and outlet plugs at every turn.  I just don’t fear the mess, the dirt, or the stains of toddler hood.  So we laugh and play, strip off our dirty clothes, and hop in the shower; and sometimes the clean up is just as fun as the mess making.