He's a good boy, I think...

Was it punishment for having him do this?
Or was he really just trying to help. 

Blessed Holden Strikes Again!

This time it wasn't the kitchen. No today I emerged from the master bedroom and nursing Zoë to sleep to find the sweet scent of almond permeating the hallway.

"I just cleaned up your floor..." He tells me, shuffling back and forth from foot to foot in anxiousness.
"What?" Panic overtook me. But I was trying so hard not to lose it. "What did you use?" As I looked down to see our hardwoods glistening as if sopping wet children had been transported from the bathtub to the side of our family room. "Oh no, it will ruin the floor... What did you use?"

Holden started running around through the living room and into the kitchen. It was obvious he could tell I was approaching -freak out at any moment status.

"I am just so sorry 'bout that." He said, and it kind of became like a mantra to him for the next five minutes. I don;t ever force Holden to say sorry for something he's done. I don;t believe in forced apologies for my children (call me crazy). I'll often ask Holden if there's something he'd like to say, and usually he'll apologize when he's done something wrong... but sometimes it takes him a while (I am certain this drives some parents crazy on the play-ground, but I see more value in a true apology down the road then a forced one for convention's sake.

Anyway, it was obvious he knew he'd done something wrong. "Just show me what you used," I said, and kind of curled my fingers up not quite to clenched fists but something akin to Medusa. (Heavy sigh... and trying to relax the space between my eyebrows.)

He lead me to the broom closet and opened the door where an empty bottle of Method's "Good for Wood" lay.

At least he used he right stuff, I thought to myself. "Well at least it won't hurt the floor" I said, reaching for the mop I use on the hardwoods. But it was heavy, and kind of dripping.

Yes, he had used it to literally 'clean the floor' and the contents of an entire bottle of Good For Wood was serving as evidence. But to his credit, he put the supplies back where they normally belong. At that moment I was so thankful I had invested in in a super absorbent mop. I rung it out a few times and then used it to finish up what Holden had started. He was right, our floors had needed a little extra attention.

"I am so sorry 'bout that." He said again.

"I'm sorry too," I said exhaling and thankful I hadn't had "crazy eyes," plopping down on the puffy cream chair in front of us.

"You have nothing to be sorry about Mom. It was all my fault. I am just so sorry about that." I had to give the kid credit. He wasn't afraid to take responsibility -- not a bad trait for an (almost) four year old.

I asked him to come over to me; and we hugged, and I held him and told him I thought he was wonderful and creative and could he please not touch my stuff anymore...

"I am never going to touch your stuff again tomorrow," he promised me. I'm not sure if that is good news or bad news.