I wake up to Matt yelling, "Amyy!! Did you leave the burner on? You've gotta come see this! Now!"
"No, I didn't leave the burner on! Coming!" as I leap out of bed and rush to the kitchen, expecting fire, smoke, and charred skin. Anything with a burner and a two-year-old is bad. Very bad.
The burner is on and very hot. Fortunately, there isn't any smoke, or fire, and Dominic is fine. What I do see, however, is see coffee grounds and pools of murky brown water everywhere. On the floor, in the pan, in the sink, in a coffee cup, and on a spoon. Coffee grounds? They were in the fridge! Apparently, Dominic was trying to make some coffee. Whether it was for himself or for Mommy, he wouldn't say. Somewhat amused, but thoroughly upset that he could have been seriously hurt, I give him a long "talking to" about the dangers of the stove and doing things without Mommy or Daddy.
His innocent face and lack of true comprehension made me feel that my lecture was a bit futile. It reminded me of a story my mother told me. One of my older brothers, Josiah, was notoriously rambunctious and curious. My mother was trying to impress upon him the importance of safety, especially when playing outside near the street. With all seriousness and concern, feeling the need to make a strong indent on his soul, such that he'll never try this himself, she tells him, "Josiah, your best friend was almost hit by a car this morning..."
Eight-year-old Josiah responds, 'That's okay. I have lots of other friends."
That's about how futile my attempts at stove-safety felt today.