This is how I found the peanut butter jar this morning. Well...I found it on its side on the floor. Clearly, there had been a very large peanut butter accident. There were hundreds (okay, well maybe a little less, but it was still a lot, especially for 7:00 am, which might as well be the middle of the night for me) of little peanut butter blobs all over the kitchen. The floor, the table, the walls, the cabinets...there were also a few peanut butter-covered dishrags littered about in the mess. By the powder room, there was a LARGE puddle of water (more of a lake, really) with a couple more dishrags lying in the middle of it. I started to put the pieces together.
I actually woke to Jack yelling, "MOM!! OWEN GOT IN THE PEANUT BUTTER!!!!" It's a fairly common occurrence in our house for the kids to wake before me and go exploring in the pantry before I wake up. They usually wake me up to ask for breakfast, but I have found them a few times munching on pretzels or goldfish (the only foods in their reach in the pantry) while having a "picnic." I've never really gotten upset about it because 1) It doesn't happen everyday, 2) I admire their independence, 3) I think it's cute how proud they are of themselves, and 4) Who am I kidding? I like the extra minutes to snooze in the morning. Occasionally, they will branch out and pull a kitchen chair over to the pantry so they can reach the cereal bars, which live on a higher shelf, or add a little cheese to their menu (which is why I sometimes find in the fridge crumpled up cheese slices with bites taken out of the wrapper). But this morning. This morning. Owen reached a whole new level. Apparently, he wanted some peanut butter on his pretzels.
In his two-year-old mind, this is what I think happened...he reached in the jar with his hands, because why not?? But then he had waaaaayyyyy more peanut butter than he needed in his little hand, so he did what any normal two-year-old would do. He shook it off. Slung it everywhere. I mean, everywhere. When that didn't do the trick, he stuck his hand in his mouth, covering his face in peanut butter. But there was still too much. So he wiped it on his jammies. Then he looked around. Uh-oh. There's peanut butter on the floor. Better clean it up. So he went to the cabinet where the dishrags are (and left peanut butter on the knob, of course), and got out some rags to clean it up. But wait. Mommy always wets them first. So he went to the powder room, where he can actually reach the sink, and soaked his rags. I mean, SOAKED them (hence, the lake on the floor). Somewhere in there, Jack, ahem, alerted me to the situation, Owen decided it was just too much for him to handle, and he came searching for me. And so that's how I found him, on his way up the stairs to find me. Covered in peanut butter. Loads of it.
We had a long discussion over his bath about the proper use of peanut butter and if you're hungry, you need to tell Mommy. I think he got the message, but clearly, it did not extend to Owen's understanding of what to do if you want to finger paint.
Because just two hours later, I found Owen in the art room covered head-to-toe in orange and purple. He had asked to paint with watercolors--an activity he has done many times before and is well-versed in, as far as the rules go. So I got him set up with watercolors, and I went back to whatever I was doing, which I cannot even begin to recall now, and I saw him go into the powder room. I should know by now, that is NEVER good. I was like, Whatcha doin' Owen?? And he was all, I need more water! And I went to help him, since he IS only 2, after all, and his cup was overflowing, and he was leaving a trail of water all the way down the hallway. When he turned around, that's when I saw the umm...artwork he had done on himself. And I was like, Really??? Fingerpaint????? Really??? So we went back up for bath #2 and had another long discussion about the appropriate use of the art room and you are not allowed to paint anymore, Owen. Do you understand me??
So we got that all cleaned up and I made lunch for the boys and me and I thought that since we had had a busy morning, I would let them watch a quick movie before nap time (and give me a few minutes to clean up the kitchen). Well, it wasn't 10 minutes later when Owen came to me with his little hands held up to me asking for help, and to my horror, I saw....TEAL FINGERPAINT!!!!! Both hands just DRIPPING with the goopy stuff--a bright teal trail all the way behind him from the art room. Clearly, we are not ready for the baby gates to come down from the art room door yet. And who ever thought fingerpaint was a good idea, anyway??? Probably someone who works for a paper towel company or a soap company, that's who.
Up we went for bath #3 and a nap (YES!). I was so darn frustrated with the poor boy, I didn't even have a long discussion with him. I just threw outfit #4 on him and dropped him in his bed and It's nap time Owen. Stay in your bed.
Yeah, right. I kept hearing his little foot steps, and when I heard him in the bathroom, I was like, OWEN! What are you DOING?? And he was like, I don't know, which is code for You really DON'T want to know. I went upstairs to find him, but all I saw was the small puddle he had made in the floor of his room, so I cleaned it up, and he was all, Mommy don't be mad. I sorry. I sorry. (He will make a good husband someday, won't he?) And so I snuggled him until he finally fell asleep.
Matt came home from work a little while later and found what Owen had been doing upstairs after I had first put him down for a nap. Yeah, he had climbed up in our closet and dumped our medicine box out. He left half eaten cough-drops and a half-chewed antacid on the floor, along with lots of pill bottles and bubble packs, thankfully none opened. Thank goodness for childproof wrappers and a guardian angel, because that could have been BAD.
There was one more incident where he tried to flush his undies down the potty, but I don't really know the details, so I will leave that alone...
Today was just one of those days...I wish I had thought to stop and take a few pictures throughout the day, just to remember and tell him about it one day, but that just didn't happen. Who knows what else would have happened if I had paused to go get the camera??
Honestly, I'm often reminded on days like this, when one of my kids is having a particularly hard day, of just how much I love them (sometimes I need a time-out first to realize this). I find myself torn between being angry, needing to discipline them, and just wanting to scoop them up in the midst of their disappointment, anger, hurt, whatever, and comfort them. Having these two little boys has given me so much insight into my own relationship with God. How often do I reach up to Him with messes too big to clean up on my own? I love my boys so much all the time, but in those moments where they are hurting, I often feel that physical ache of a broken heart. Their pain and sorrow and disappointment and anger become my own, and I just want to love them through it. And to think that as much as I could ever love them, God loves me infinitely more--it's overwhelming. I thought today, What in the world was he thinking??? He JUST got in trouble for getting into the fingerpaint, and he did it AGAIN!! But how many times do I make the same bad choices over and over again, not learning from them? And God in His infinite grace and mercy scoops me up into His arms full of forgiveness and hope and whispers that He STILL loves me with a love that is deeper and wider than I could ever imagine? I am so incredibly thankful for that today.
But I learned even more than that today.
Owen said many times today, unprompted, I sorry, I sorry, I sorry, Mommy. But the last time he said it, just before we snuggled up for his nap, he said, Mommy say okay. And I realized after a minute that he was waiting for me to give my typical response to his apologies--"It's okay, Owen." There he was, standing before me, asking for grace and forgiveness and love in the only way his two-year-old little heart knows how. He could say he was sorry all day long (and he did), but until he heard me say, "It's okay, Owen," he could not receive that grace and forgiveness and love that was already his for the taking. And it made me realize that I ask for forgiveness daily, but I'm not sure I always stop to listen to God say, "It's okay," and to daily receive the love and forgiveness that He so freely gives.
I laid Owen down next to me in his bed, and I looked at him and said, It's okay, Owen. I love you. And that's all he needed to hear. He was sleeping just a minute later, resting in the comfort that his mommy still loves him, no matter what.
God used Owen and all of his messes today to teach me to just listen to Him. God tells us to just stop and listen. Gosh, how many times a day do I say that to my boys, and how many times a day do I fail to do it myself with my own Father? A little perspective goes a long way, doesn't it?
"Be still and know that I am God."
Psalm 46:10
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