The Bear was totally spoiled last Sunday. A friend of my Mom has twin grandsons who are a couple of years older than him. The twins outgrew this amazing toy and (after a discussion with their Mom) decided to bless another little kid whom they’ve never met with it. Oh my heart.

So Bear got his first ride on the  new toy he was given on Sunday and was…well, see for yourself.

A couple of days later he was looking forward to another ride, but his behavior was not lining up in such a way that that was going to happen. If ya know what I mean. Eventually the first and final warning fell on deaf ears, and his infraction meant he would not have the privilege of riding the jeep that day.

After nap time, we walked down to the mailbox to check the mail (or to the postbox to check for post, if you’d rather) and as we trodded back up the hill with a few letters and bills, he expressed a keen desire that could not come to fruition: he wanted to ride his jeep.

I gently explained that his previous behavior meant he wouldn’t be allowed to ride it today. It was as if this was news hot off the presses. His whimpers quickly turned to wailing, and as I held open the door with one arm, baby held on my hip with the other, he plopped down on the steps to force himself to bawl till the neighbours came out to check on him, instead of coming in through the open door.

I shared a photo of the childhood tragedy on instagram:

{Which is a fun & quirky way of sharing photos, if you’d like to follow me there. (@CarolineCollie)}

I stood for a moment, baby on my hip, watching this precious soul wailing on the steps outside, and it caused me to do a little thinking.

Do I ever sit outside on the steps when things aren’t going my way?

Do I ever pout and hang around at the gate, even though the door’s wide open to a warm place waiting for me with unconditional love and acceptance?

Maybe. Just maybe.