I ought to be calmer about spills by now. Given how often something hits the floor, I ought to have perfected the art of stepping back, admiring the unique shape created, and then calmly going for a rag. If I started every day believing that I was due at least three major spills, think how much happier I’d be! Most days I’d come out ahead!
And yet all too often my immediate reaction to a spill is frustration. “Another mess,” my internal score-keeper notes in exasperation. “Haven’t I cleaned up enough of these? Why can’t they be more careful? It’s so wasteful, too!”
Sometimes, though… sometimes I manage to find that zen balance point in myself. Sometimes when the small child spills yogurt (because he was trying to lick a drop off the arm that was holding the cup, and no he cannot focus on two things at once), I honestly am not upset. It’s outside, after all. And yes it’s wasteful, but a quarter cup of yogurt is not the end of the world. And, as it turns out, yogurt is slippery and gooey and great fun to slide toes around in, which my children took full advantage of for a good ten minutes.
Truly, there is no point crying about it.