Where's the flavor?

The other day Emma and I went for a walk. It was a nice night, and she was being so darn cute. I decided to treat her to something she's rarely experienced: ice cream.

So we trekked to Dairy Queen, and I scanned the menu for something that would make the least mess. Ultimately, I decided on a cherry starkiss.

Hindsight being 20/20, there were probably better options. But somehow I came to the conclusion that a popsicle would run less than an ice cream cone, and if it did stain, the faded red would be barely noticeable on a pink shirt. Yeah, I know -- very faulty logic.

I tucked a napkin into Emma's collar (an exercise in futility) and we headed on our way.

The very second we hit the door, it was like someone held a heat lamp directly on Emma's treat. Rivers of cherry stickiness flowed down Emma's fingers, over her arms, onto her shirt, and then rolled right down to the light denim skirt she wore for only the second time. And that was just on the first block.

I felt the stares of every person we passed on the mile or so walk home. But you know what? Emma loved it, and I didn't care what anybody thought. She was having fun, and so was I.

That night, after scrubbing her in the bathtub, hosing down the stroller and putting her to bed with ruby-stained lips, I reflected on what I'd learned.

Life is full of messes ... some big, some small. Sometimes we have the opportunity to avoid them, and sometimes we don't. Looking back on the messes I've had in my life, I guess I wouldn't go back and change a thing.

I could have avoided the messes, but I would have missed the flavor.