Babysat today. Left my bedroom door open while I studied: (ir)responsible. I could hear J7 and his neighbor friend playing downstairs in the living room.
Good news. So I thought.
Just 30 minutes of them being unaccompanied, I go downstairs, and there is a soccer ball on the burner -- burning! What the?!
I myself was on my way out the door, there was a sizzling half-ball on the burner, my bus was driving away (I told myself I could hear it), plus of course there were two boys giggling in the play room. "Get out! Get out! Go to the neighbors!" I called BG to tell her of the almost-catastrophe. Over 10 years of 'professional' babysitting, and now is when I get my own that-one-time-I-almost-burnt-the-house-down story. Geez.
Came in tonight and the first thing I heard, apart from the dog barking, "Esther, I didn't burn the ball and my mom believes me." The living room wasn't welcoming either, just a dutiful 'hi' which I echoed, totally unenthused.
BG cooked. I cleaned. J7 kicked the ball onto the burner. Who's to blame? Uhh -- nobody! We all could have noticed. Whatever. It isn't about who takes the blame. (or is it?) Wait, what is it about? How about increasing each of our perceptions to the world around us:
Turning off the burner when done cooking.
Checking the knobs before wiping down the burners.
Picking up toys when they land on the kitchen counter-tops.
J7 felt the finger was pointed on him. BG felt the finger was pointed on her. I felt the finger was pointed on me.
Don't blame, please.