Serves me right

This is a cautionary tale, the irony of which may prove to bite me if I linger too long here.

I'd been fiddling with my last blog post and had just pressed the final button when I heard James call out, "Mom, Samuel's spilling the syrup!"

Sure enough, Samuel was artfully pouring syrup onto a plate on the floor. Yes, he used a plate, but come on, he's 1, and he can't color in the lines. I quickly scooped him up, threw down a towel, answered James' query that no, you can't have ice cream right now, and barged with Samuel first to the bathroom, then to his dresser for a new outfit. With no clean pants there, I carried a now sticky-free Samuel toward the laundry room.

En route we passed the kitchen where James -- no surprise here -- had the ice cream out and was licking a spoon. "James!" I scolded. "I said no!"

"But I didn't have any," he said.

Oh, really. In just the last few days James has gotten a small taste for lying. This time, with the evidence all over his face, all I could do was smile inside, set Samuel down -- and grab the camera. The syrup was too much of an emergency to think about documenting but this . . . well, this could make a great blog post.

"So tell me again," I said from behind the viewfinder, "that you didn't have any." He jiggled the spoon as he did, maintaining his innocence.

Note the faint but significant brown patch on his nose. Note, too, the navy and white picture of a house on the floor in the background. It's an important reference point for what comes next. Directly beyond my line of sight, which shifted as soon as I lowered the camera and stepped away from James, was this marvel: Samuel drawing on the floor with a marker (a Sharpie, of course).

Aaargh! I give up.

P.S. Baking soda works wonders.