There’s loads of different ways to mother a child but I like to break it down to two categories: those who prevent the mess or those who clean it up later. A while ago, my dad suggested I read a story called “Spilled Milk”. I’m not sure where the story came from; leave it to my dad to hand me a neon yellow sheet of paper that has a story about spilled milk on one side and suggestions for password security on the other.

In any case, the story was about a boy who lost his grip on a bottle of milk he was trying to remove from the refrigerator. In true childlike fashion, the milk ended up on the floor. Rather than scold her son, the mother turned the spilled milk into a lesson by stating that when a mess is made, it must eventually be cleaned up. She then gave her son different options for cleaning it up, suggesting a

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sponge, towel, or mop. The boy chose the sponge and they cleaned up the mess together. When the mess was cleaned, she brought her son outside and allowed him to practice carrying the milk without spilling it. The lesson of the story being that we must not be afraid to make mistakes, that with each mistake comes an opportunity for a valuable lesson.

Sure, it’s all kind of cheesy and if you could read, verbatim, the language used you’d have cheese seeping out your ears (I know, it’s a lovely visual). But as I was busy the other morning wanting to ream Van’s neck for throwing ice all over the floor, I thought of this story.

And when he insisted on drinking from a water bottle in my car only to have half of it spill all over himself, I thought of it again.

And when I needed to use the boys’ clean bath towel to soak up all the water they were spilling out of their bath, I thought of it again.

And when Hooper took my perfectly folded laundry and insisted on helping by picking it up and throwing it in his brother’s room (where it actually did need to go), I thought of it yet again.

And when Hooper started copying me in the yard by cleaning up Sarah’s turds (I had a bag over my hand, he did not), I thought of it again.

I can’t say that each and every one of these scenarios turned into a thoughtful lesson that ended with them practicing cleaning up dog shit, for example, but a lot of them did end with a shoulder shrug, a “thank you for helping”, or a good hand scrubbin’.

That’s because I’ve accepted that I can’t win them all. In fact, I don’t even want to win them all. I love the idea of a child being a child. I love watching my boys explore their world. I see their admiration for me every time they mimic my behavior.

So sometimes spilled milk is okay. Just so long as it’s not spilled breast milk, right?!

What kind of mom are you? Do you embrace messes or try your hardest to prevent them?