I Sorry

When my son was two years old, I learned a really important lesson. I learned that when you have a conversation with your two year old and it begins with the words, "Mommy, I sorry," you are about to be shown something that will not make you happy.

My son was adorable when he was two. He had these cheeks that looked like they were stuffed with jelly and they jiggled every time he took a step. He had huge blue eyes and soft blond hair that barely covered his bald head.  I believe that he really did want to be a good boy. being bad was just so much more interesting.

So when I was folding the laundry and he tapped me on the shoulder to say, "Mommy, I sorry," I knew I should be afraid.

"Why are you sorry," I asked.

"I show you," he whispered as he grabbed my index finger with his warm, chubby hand.

He led me into the kitchen and opened the door of the refrigerator. It took me a moment before I noticed the problem. The inside of the door, and the contents thereof, was covered with dripping egg goo. There was a convenient place at the top of the door molded perfectly to hold a dozen eggs. My son had obviously decided to see what an egg would do when smashed by his fist. He knew it was a bad thing to do, but when it exploded and egg goo dripped down the ketchup bottle, he just couldn't resist doing it again. And again. Until all twelve eggs had exploded and dripped their goo. And when the fun was over, he fessed up.

I remember standing there with my mouth agape just staring as goo dripped onto the kitchen floor. And, although I knew I shouldn't, although I knew it would be much harder to clean once the goo was dried, I just closed the door and walked away. A little later I had a talk with my son, and during nap time I tacked the project of cleaning the refrigerator. But at that moment, I couldn't help it and I just had to have a laugh.