Grateful. . .

Is what you are when you realize you were (with divine help), down to the milisecond, able to keep your toddler from burning down the house and/or permanently mutilating himself.

You discovered this when, after finishing folding the laundry, you walked into the kitchen in time to see him standing in front of the stove on a stool he had dragged from his room. AND, you saw that he had placed a dishtowel on one of the gas burners. AND, he was in the act of turning said burner on. AND, as soon as he saw you, he didn't, but reached and flipped the back one on instead, the sudden roar of blue flame missing the dishtowel by about an inch.

All in the time it took you to walk three feet forward to reach him.

Which is far shorter than the time it takes for you to give him a lengthy--in toddler minutes--discussion about the dangers of fire, that fire is hot, and that we never, never turn those knobs (all the while watching him nod solemnly and wondering whether he is going to remember this talk tomorrow.)


. . .Not that I would know this from personal experience.