Image by Jose Fan via FlickrI hear a small crash, and go into the kitchen, where Boy Ten is standing looking at the wreckage of a porcelain funnel, kitchen funnel, china funnel he's been using to decant some of his juice back into the box, because he poured too much."What happened?" I ask, neutrally. Not "What did you do?" which is needlessly accusatory.
He starts to explain, but he's fighting back tears. I'm like, "It's okay, really. Cmere."
If it had been a cup, no problem. I suspect he's more upset because it was a strange kind of instrument, like an apothecary's tool. And we have -- had -- only one.
So he helps me sweep it up, and that's sufficient penance. I don't want my kids to beat themselves up over stuff. Accidents happen, even when you're being careful. That's what makes them accidents.
