I’ve mentioned before that Clay enjoys pouring things out. We’ve long since learned to keep shampoos, mouthwashes, liquid soap and other “pourables” behind locked doors, along with the paper towels and napkins (a topic for another day). Forget about hydrogen peroxide or witch hazel. We smuggle them into the house in unmarked bags like winos in a cheap hotel and still the bottles will be empty within hours. It is an obsession that is as puzzling as it is maddening.
The last few days Clay has been dumping juice. He initially limited this activity to our patio, but the other night he poured most of a cup on the stairway leading to the third floor in our house. You don’t realize how much liquid that is until you see it dripping down the steps. And you don’t realize how angry such a simple act can make you feel until it happens for the fifth time in two days.
After cleaning up the mess (it smelled like berries the rest of the night) and taking a few deep, calming breaths, my wife grabbed the keyboard.
“Clay, why did you dump your juice on the floor?” she typed.
“I was done,” he typed back in response.
That explains it.
She typed back that maybe next time he should just hand the cup back to Mom or Dad or put it on the counter when he is finished. Let’s hope that lesson sticks.