Slow to Speak

“Mommy…come….come”  - waving his hand at me and motioning me towards his room.

Smiling like a Cheshire cat.

The room I had heard him playing in with his sister.

The room they had been in for at least fifteen minutes.

So I followed as he ran ahead of me, catapulting himself onto his bed

and jumping and smiling and singing and jumping

and giving me that knowing smile. 

Look what I did.

Look at my room now.

The room that was clean.

Operative word: clean.

Or maybe the operative word is “was”

15 minutes people.

My instinct was “what the frig happened in here!?!?!?”

My second thought was “what the friggity frackity happened in here!?!?!?

Then I remembered…

Slow to yell speak

Slow to freak out anger

YOU try it. See how far YOU get.

so I back peddled away from the instinct I am prone to

I sighed a heavy sigh that comes from tired mothers everywhere and said

“let me get my camera”

Oh, and I made him clean it up.

And he did. 

And nary an angry word was heard from either camp.

Imagine that.