Whoever coined the phrase, “It’s no use crying over spilt milk,” was much more relaxed than I am.
Funny that I want to teach my daughter to handle stress in healthy ways, but I lose my cool when we’re on to mess 10 and I haven’t finished my first cup of coffee yet.
Hence her new nickname: Hurricane.
That whole intention of less mess in the new year is harder to do than it was even a week ago. She seems to stretch farther every day. What she can’t reach from her tip toes she can now climb to get.
At this moment, I can see two square feet of my living room floor and none of my kitchen table top, which has been stacked with things I don’t want Squidget to reach or that she has reached and I haven’t had time to put back in their proper place.
The only reason she hasn’t emptied my dresser drawers this morning is because she’s been busy drinking the cat’s milk, which she has also slopped a trail of on the kitchen floor.
Sometimes, I laugh. Like when she filled my parents’ toilet with lotion and vitamin bottles. (She did this in our toilet, too, but I like to conserve water so it was a dirtier extraction process.)
Sometimes I pull my hair out. Like when she eats cat food for the umpteenth time in one day.
Maybe it’s time to move more of her toys upstairs, away from the cat food. Or maybe it’s time to declutter. Maybe I’ll figure it out after I finish this cup of coffee.