Spilling Stuff

My children have many talents, but both seem to have particular natural flair for spilling things. I had originally thought this would get better with age, but I'm seeing now that age brings height. And height brings access. And access brings new, previously untouched items crashing to the floor.

It starts with milk. Other drinks, too, but milk being the one that most effectively messes up clothing and tablecloths, and makes the house smell like dead animals when one forgets to wipe mere droplets from the inside of chair legs (which the so-called immutable laws of physics ought to have protected from the splash in the first place). New parents adjust to drink-spills fairly well, breach of physics aside. We even learn to walk around with a roll of paper towels tucked under an arm at all times. We don't even get upset, we just lean down and wipe wipe wipe. I hear you can train for this by working in rice paddies.

As children grow, they become more comfortable with solid foods - meaning that the mess migrates from the general body-area onto the floor, walls, ceiling, and any difficult-to-clean surface within 8 feet (that distance growing with the cube of the child's age). Clever manufacturers have addressed this problem, and now sell cute little "mess mats" to place under high chairs to catch the spills. Spills that only a trained stunt-adult could make so smartly. I've always found that plastic painter's tarps and elevator quilts work better.

But it gets better. And soon they figure out that the table isn't the only place from which food can be flung. This is when an otherwise tidy and well-run household loses its scented-candle smell, and takes on the aroma of toxic waste. Because these otherwise intelligent and well-behaved children alter their life-goals from walking, talking, and playing, to finding rancid food, smearing it on the underside of sofa cushions, and NOT telling Mom. We really try to keep a handle on our children, but the fact remains that we HAVE to go to the bathroom sooner or later. That's when children who take upwards of 30 minutes to tie a shoe can smear an entire jar of peanut butter onto the cat it 12 seconds. Without missing the carpet. And still, we accept this as one of the joys of parenting.

Some of us, for inexplicable reasons, have more than one child. Which as any mathematician versed in chaos theory knows doesn't DOUBLE the damage, but rather SQUARES it. Meaning that we just throw out our regular vacuum cleaners and stick with the heavy-duty-steam cleaner. With the upholstery attachment. And don't bother making room in the closet.

We're the ones that buy those hideously busy vinyl wallpapers - so that when an ACTUAL banana hits it (and sticks) - it just blends in, until we're done mopping and can get to it. We're the ones who sew elastic into the hem of our tablecloths, to make it (slightly) harder for a child to bring down the entire contents of the breakfast table - usually on a day when syrup is involved. We change our ways to accommodate offense AND defense, which doesn't work all that well, but it DOES provide us fodder for feelings of helplessness and inadequacy - the cornerstones of Motherhood in the Martha Stewart era.

One helpful girlfriend suggested I involve the children in the cleanup process. "Independence! Self esteem!" cried she, who obviously doesn't have children. On the occasions I've tried it, the soap has been spilled, dustpan overturned, clothes slimed, and water overflowed. I've seen plungers placed on heads, sponges chewed, trashcan contents raided, and hairy food globs placed back into original containers. Letting my children help clean up spills pretty much triples the work. Quadruples it, if laundry is involved (when is laundry NOT involved?) And if the cat escapes in the process, well that's just my WHOLE DAY right there.

My children are always remorseful, even though I make little issue. It's one of their charming qualities, and has much redeeming value. Certainly more value than their efforts at removing chocolate pudding from tile grout (don't ask). I prefer to think of my glass half full. And SOLIDLY set away from the edge of the table.