Yesterday, Owen pulled out one of the tea sets (yes, we have more than one tea set). He took it to the kids’ little table, filled the teapot up with water, and proceeded to fill each cup. Except this particular teapot doesn’t quite pour straight, leaving the kid with a wet table/floor/lap every time, but no tea in the teacups.

He comes running to where I’m nursing the baby and whispers, “Mom! I spilled some tea!”

“No big deal,” I tell him. “Get a little towel and dry it up.”

So I put the baby down for a nap and come out to check on things. Owen has finished his tea time and moved on to trains in the next room. I think, Oh, I better make sure he put the wet tea towel in the laundry basket, because of course he didn’t, and if I don’t grab it RIGHT THIS MINUTE, I will forget forever and wind up with a mildewy kids’ table.

“I cleaned up!” Owen calls to me.

“Great,” I say, turning to examine the table. Where I find EVERY SINGLE hand towel that we own, working together to soak up three-quarters of an ounce of water. Excellent.

He clearly learned the paper towel lesson.