Control freak

So, to say that I am a neat freak would be a lie. In fact, I am still figuring out housekeeping as I go. The first six months of marriage were filled with little battles about common sense housekeeping tricks that I did not know, like putting dishes in the empty dishwasher instead of the sink. I mean, I know how to make a bed, but it wasn't a rule in my house growing up to make your bed. So I made it when I was forced to clean my room. I know how to wash dishes, but we didn't have a dishwasher so my sister and I would do all of the dishes from the day after dinner. So I am not the kind of person who freaks out over dust bunnies and unfluffed pillows.

I apparently am the kind of person who does not let her son learn to feed himself with a spoon for fear of The Mess, though. The Mess makes me do dumb things, like give Elliott a spoon and bowl withhis food in it, and then take it away after he grabs the spoon and starts to shake it at me. It isn't a problem with him getting food on his face, or even his clothes. It is a problem with the fact that Elliott sees food as an artistic medium, ready to be spread on the closest surface. I watch him try to do it, then I help him try to do it, then I take over. Bad, bad mommy. I don't know why it bothers me so much if he flings yogurt at me or smears mashed potatoes on the high chair tray instead of attempting to get it somewhere in the vicinity of his mouth, but I usually snatch the spoon away before he makes too much progress. Usually I just offer the food that requires a utensil and let him do the finger foods by himself, but this morning I managed to sit on my hands and let him t

ry to do it himself. His clothes are spotted with yogurt, the tray was smeared with goo, and his arms were sticky, but he had his first (uninterrupted) lesson with the spoon.

And yes, that is the handle in his mouth. *sigh*