It seems that stories like I’m about to share always begin with,
“I just ran to the other room for a second . . . ”
And that’s what I had done.
I was getting Josiah set up for a snack, pushed him up to the table, and then just ran to the other room for a SECOND . . . to give one of the girls a reminder, or to put something away . . . I don’t even remember.
I hear the clattery bang, and then some splashing, and return to find this:
That mug in the lower right hand corner, which astoundingly remains unharmed, was just moments prior on the table, full of lukewarm coffee. And evidently, well within reach of what we’ve begun to refer to as “the power arm.”
Just because his left arm doesn’t end in a hand, it doesn’t mean that Josiah hasn’t already, at age one, found ways to use it powerfully and effectively. (And destructively)
Perhaps because this is kid #3 . . . I find myself a bit more low-key at such moments. So, I took the time to soak the moment in . . . while little Josiah soaked himself in my precious Starbucks coffee.
Surprisingly, the gray and white striped onesie made it through the incident unscathed.