This morning while trying to fold laundry
the baby was out of sight
for a few minutes.
She began hollering.
I ran to the rescue.
She had climbed onto the kitchen table.
My last post makes this story even funnier.
This morning someone had left the maple syrup
in the middle of the table.
Of course that is Caroline's spot.
I assume she had climbed up to claim it back.
In her 16 month old mind
I guess she decided to take that syrup out.
Out of the bottle to be exact.
The table had a healthy layer of syrup
across it's whole surface.
And of course Caroline
had it all over herself too.
She was hollering because she didn't know
how to get out of the mess.
If she moved, she would stick in place.
I scooped her up and put her in the bathtub.
Clothes, shoes and all.
I'm experienced like that.
We got the job done.
Caroline was stick free.
The clothes were in the dirty laundry pile.
And the shoes were washed out.
The table was also scrubbed
Now that Carline is down for a nap,
I've had a minute to reflect
on my relatively unproductive day.
About how this little incident
parallels my life right now.
I feel stuck in the middle
of a lot of sticky goo.
No matter where I choose to move to
or even if I choose to sit,
it's still not fun.
And I want to holler out for help.
I wish someone would scoop
me up and throw me in the bath.
And then clean up all the messes.
And then I remember that I am 37 years old
in three days.
And no longer 16 months old.
And I have to find my own way
out of messes.
Even if I don't like syrup
and would have never
spread it across my living space.
I need an
Aunt Jamima size miracle.
And I am sure that God will deliver.
Because I am his 16 month old
who cries out of help.
Even when I am 36 and 362 days.