A Picture Speaks a Thousand Words (and I've got five pictures)

"I'm sorry, Mom. I spilled the salsa!"

"Oh, you did? Come show me."

"You won't get mad at me?" (Ike shakes his head no as he questions me.)

"I won't get mad at you. Thanks for telling me." (I see small dots of red salsa on the kitchen floor thinking that it wasn't so bad.)

Ike repeats, "You won't get mad at me?"

"No, I won't get mad at you."

He opens the door to the pantry with his wide eyes glued on me.

I walk into the room that smells of salsa, trying to breathe and not get upset. I look back at Ike. His eyes questioning me and his half-smile trying to convince me that it was all right. He waits for reassurance that he's not in trouble. I smile at him and pat his head and send him in the opposite direction.

What a day.