We’ve survived our craziest week since the move. Tenting at a family conference for the weekend, followed by three days of filming at summer camp.
A while ago an old friend suggested I join the marketing committee of a summer camp I practically lived at from nine years old until I left the country in my twenties. It sounded safe enough – we’ve been limiting our involvement in outside activities until our family is more settled. Very quickly however, J and I found ourselves taking on a huge project that is demanding a lot of our time and talent. I’ll write more about that another time.
Between camping and camp we spent a night at home, dropping off some dirty laundry and half re-packing the van before heading out again the next day. When our travels ended, J went back to work and the girls and I looked forward to a quiet day at home. Reasonably productive too, given the recent lack of sleep. By lunchtime I had my second load of laundry hung in the sun, the kitchen was being cleared, the girls were happy. And then Bella sat down on top of the cooler to eat her snack. Some milk had been spilled in it and I was waiting for a moment to clean it out properly without assistance. I went downstairs for a few minutes, and she followed.
When I came back up there was a jug on the counter and water all over the kitchen floor. I thought Bella had slipped trying to pour herself a drink, got out the mop and thought no more of it. Later I found more water, and more again. Eventually she told me she had accidentally tipped over the cooler. Two hours later. Two hours of walking soon-to-be-smelly milky water all over the house.
Needless to say the day kind of went downhill from there.
We had a good chat about accidents being accidents, and telling someone what’s happened so it can be set right. The next day she came to me with something, and in her explanation included: ‘accidents are okay but I’ve got to tell you or Daddy and you won’t be mad.’ A good reminder to keep calm and pleasant in the face of disaster. My kids are more important than a clean house.
After all, as a mother of four boys I know often repeats to herself, ‘it’s only mess.’