I suppose I should have expected it eventually. But the sound still jarred me right out of my chair. I know. My first mistake was sitting down.
Behold, exhibit A:
Once I heard the distinct sound of cascading glass, I bolted into the dining room to find three year old holding exhibit A in one hand and its mate in the other. He’d snatched them out of the china cabinet–a neglected crystal/china graveyard for the fancaypantsay wedding items I once envisioned busting out for the fabulous grown up dinner parties I was certain I’d throw.
Bwa ha ha ha ha.
Aaaanyway, three year old no doubt was intrigued by this sparkly verboten land and thought it would be good fun to clang two glasses together like cymbals, until one shattered all around him. He stood there, mouth agape, as steady as a statue clutching the two glasses in disbelief.
“WHOA!” I screeched out of fear and shock as I surveyed the scene. And immediately his face fell and he started to cry.
How do you explain to a three year old that you’re not angry he broke a dumb glass, but just grateful he didn’t cut his jugular with the broken glass/hurt his beautiful face/get glass in his eye? I shudder to think of the possibilities as my neurotic nodinnerpartiesforidiotsmind whizzes! Never mind the dust he probably inhaled from shaking those wedding registry relics around! Surprised we didn’t have to give him a hit of his bro’s asthma inhaler.
He actually did me a favor. Now I have an even amount of unused fancaypantsay wine glasses (one bit the dust years ago). That will work out well for my next couples dinner party when something BIG happens like Christ rises again or I fit into single digit jeans–whichever comes first.
Until then, I’m grateful 3 year old is okay and Imma go get my red Solo cup on. Mason jar if I’m being all high fallutin.
Cheers to a great/shards of glass-free week, Muffintoppers!