little oops experts

They use up an entire bottle of shower gel at once.

They smear toothpaste all over the sink.

They spray your favorite perfume onto a doll’s hair.

They spill doll eyes on a new carpet that Aunt (heaven forbid) gifted.

They smear a piece of meat on a clean carpet.

They pour cocoa on freshly washed floors.

They don’t listen when told to tidy up their rooms.

They run barefoot on cold floors.

They protest against certain kinds of soup.

They break shoes.

They tear jackets.

They refuse to go to sleep at night.

They “die” because they can’t get up in the morning.

To the question “Are you cold?” they always have the same single answer.

In the shower, they use five times more water than you.

They scatter the contents of freshly sharpened pencils from a tightly clenched handful.

They break your favorite mug.

And then.

Then, with a voice quieter than quiet, they squeak out: “I’m sorry.”

Faster than the word can leave my mouth, they press their small body close and squeeze a plump little hand over the “oops” of regret.

Lower than it seems possible to drop the nose, they bow their head and whisper:
“I didn’t mean to…”

They adjust the puppy eyes of the puddle just left on the floor and almost convincingly say:
“This time it really wasn’t me,” or “I have no idea how that happened.”

They blow their already round eyes wide again in surprise:
“And you think a damp wipe won’t clean it? Won’t glue everything together?”

They fail often. And we, Moms.
As best we can, we fight the “everyday mishaps.”

We clean, glue, sweep, refill shower gel more often than needed, collect accidental crumbs, save for new perfume, patch holes that God knows where they came from.

Because we are simply hypnotized by words almost as quiet as those said after an “oops” moment:
“Mom, if you lie down next to me and scratch my back—I’ll fall asleep faster than you can imagine.”

—–♡——

And I won’t come to your bed many times anymore. For no reason.

Kiss the little masters of mishaps sweetly,
V.