Some days are better than others. Patience had a bit of a trying day; strawberry stain on her favourite white jacket at church, followed by incidents that would only happen to an almost-three-year-old.
She fell off her little bike as Nana pushed it out of the shed, then got knocked in the head with the handlebars as I picked it up to put it away. (Tears both times.) She was scolded for climbing up an armchair to reach the forbidden crayons. Then we had a major poop crisis. If you have ever toilet-trained a child, you can imagine a scenario in which said child is carried upstairs, bum first, head tucked under a big person’s arm because the other end is just too much to get close to. Everything she was wearing went in the washer immediately, and she got the business end of the shower head, a happenstance she doesn’t like. (Why is it she laughs like a maniac when sprayed with a cold water hose outside, but howls when the warm spray from the shower hits her?)
So a half hour before bedtime, she was cozily dressed in warm pajamas, with the numbers on them (her favourites) and tucked up on the couch, reading a story with Nicholas.
All the grief and tears of the day were forgotten. She was warm, clean, loved and secure. Bedtime went quietly and peacefully, and she woke in the morning as chipper as a little squirrel.
I said to her Nana that perhaps we should all learn from this, that no matter how bad the day was, once we are settled and secure, we should forget about it, not sulk around and resent the trouble, but accept the gifts of God as they come to us.