Accidents happen. For example, the world’s ugliest nativity scene was destroyed this weekend, courtesy of The Kidling, when she accidentally knocked it off a shelf at a craft store. It wasn’t this one, but it was bad.
The clerk called my bluff when I said I would pay for the damn thing, and then offered to let me take it home. Let’s go through this point-by-point:
Thanks, but no thanks. Then it wouldn’t be an accident: it would be a tragedy. As such, we cleaned up the hideous mess and put it in the garbage where it belonged.
So accidents happen. Sometimes, when you live with a four-year-old, those accidents involve pee.
I bet you didn’t see that coming.
Sweet child o’ mine had a little accident at preschool yesterday. She mentioned it as we were changing her into pajamas. Try as we might, The Dada and I couldn’t quite figure out why she came home in the same clothes as she went to school.*
The Mama: Was it a big accident, or just a little accident?
Alice: A big one. The pee was on the floor.
The Mama: Oh. Did they wash your clothes?
Alice: No. They washed my shoes. Miss M helped me get clean underwear and they washed my shoes so they wouldn’t be pee shoes, they would just be water shoes.
And thank goodness she didn’t have to wear pee shoes. It probably would have scarred her for life.
* Answer: she was wearing a skirt and she came home in her back-up undies. It all makes sense now.