Yes, it was a little, teensy two-year-old hand, to be exact, that was holding the handle on that milk jug as milk poured out all over my practically brand new living room carpet. It was no accident. In fact, in his little mind, it served me right because I was on the phone.
I could kinda tell he didn't want me to talk on the phone by the blood curdling scream he let out when the phone rang and I answered it. This meant I had to begin and end my conversation in another room with the door closed.
There were older brothers here and there, but their heads were stuck in computer screens. The sound of milk dumping onto the floor apparently wasn't enough to shake them out of their computer comas.
Well, I certainly felt the infamous "slight twinge of annoyance" that J talks about in His Course. At the same time, I figured someone had better forgive this mess. After all, there's no difference between forgiving some illusory image that pops up in front of my face right now and forgiving the original instant that I took the "tiny mad idea" of separation seriously.
So, I did my job and forgave truly, and I did my cover job which was cleaning up the mess, and I did my other cover job which was putting that baby to bed early! Funny, after he was in bed, that phone never rang again!
It figures, I mean it's forgiven.