It’s Not the End of the World

This is my new motto. I find myself saying it a lot these days. Because, as one friend put it, I have a very busy boy.

I find that my stress level drops tremendously when I say that magic little phrase. And it helps me discipline appropriately and not in anger when he does goofy, two year old things. (Primarily while I’m busy nursing, but not always.)

For example…

When he got into the coffee can.


Or when he got the matchsticks off the fireplace and used them as drumsticks on the coffee table.


Or when he got the pancake box out of the trash can.


Or when he got the permanent marker and colored on the walls.

Or when he eats the dog food for the bajillionth time today.

Or when he feeds the dog his crackers.

Or when he gets a hold of my drink and eats all my ice. And usually spills all the water on the floor before he’s done.

It’s not the end of the world.

We’ll all be fine. Even if I do have to break out the broom and vacuum and clean the walls and mop the floor and who knows what else a few more times (or a lot more times).

I just tell myself that this is a phase. And if it isn’t, don’t tell me. I don’t know if I could handle knowing that.

And even though I’m usually highly annoyed or extremely aggravated at the time, I have to admit, it’s pretty stinkin’ funny.

And maybe one day in the future (very distant future) (like years and years from now when I can no longer feel the aggravation) when I see someone else with kids this age, I may actually say, “Oh, they’re two? That’s such a cute age. Treasure every moment with your baby. They don’t stay this cute forever.”

Or not. I don’t want to get punched in the face.

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