This morning at breakfast, I reached for my cup of milk with both hands—just like Mom always says.
But my elbow bumped the spoon, and splash!—milk poured all over the table and dripped onto the floor!
I froze, wide-eyed, watching it spread like a little white river across the tiles.
My socks got wet, and the dog came running to lick up the mess, tail wagging happily.
I felt a lump in my throat and whispered, “I’m sorry,” as Mom walked over with a towel.
She knelt down, smiled, and said, “Accidents happen. Let’s clean it up together.”
We wiped and dried and even laughed when the dog sneezed from a milk mustache.
Next time, I’ll be more careful—but I know it’s okay to make a little mess sometimes.