Uh-oh

Henry's new favorite phrase is "uh-oh." He knows that it is something you say when you fall or drop something, but like 'Aloha' means both hello and goodbye, Henry's "uh-oh" has many meanings.
It is a fun phrase to say over and over while you are waiting for Mommy or Daddy to rescue you from your crib in the morning. I'm taking this meaning to be: Don't press snooze again, Mommy. Get up. It's time to start the day.
He also likes to say it to get a response and a laugh--i.e. he says "uh-oh" I say "uh-oh" and this goes on for ten minutes. I'm taking this meaning to be: H: I'm cute. EJ: Yes you are.
But sometimes his uh-oh takes a darker turn. He'll throw his sippy cup across the room. Uh-oh. He'll throw goldfish in my face. Uh-oh. I'm trying to teach him the difference between accidents and just plain old bad behavior. That yes, we say uh-oh when something drops on the floor, but how it got to the floor makes a difference.
But I wonder, do I understand this?
Right now I am struggling with the cold hard truth that I'm a pretty self-righteous and judgemental person. I judge people to the point that the other night at Casa Grande I made a joke about a baby. I am struck with horror at this. I'd like to say, "Uh-oh," my sense of humor has got the best of me. But it is more than that. I'm so bogged down with everybody else's flaws that I fail to come to grips with my own. Uh-oh.
There are a thousand ways I judge you. I work out 5 days a week. If you don't, I'm better than you and let me tell you about how much healthier I am than you. But the truth is, I haven't lost a pound in like three weeks. And I make a million excuses as to why I just can't make that spin class my trainer keeps encouraging me to go to. And basically, all I really want to do now is eat Jello sugar free chocolate pudding. Uh-oh.
And I judge your parenting. Does your child sleep through the night? Mine does. And he is very easygoing and rarely whines or screams his head off when I drop him off at nursery. On some level, I am aware that this has nothing to do with me. That I'm just blessed with an even keeled little boy who loves Mr. Bunny, his crib, and his Zzzzs and that they have awesome trucks and a kitchen at nursery and he loves them too. But on a deeper, scarier level, I blame you for your child who doesn't sleep well or cries when you drop him off. Maybe if you stuck to a schedule, cut back on those sugary juices, and didn't let him watch TV your kid would be like mine. (But for the record, Henry set his own schedule, not me, this past weekend he drank probably a gallon of chocolate milk, and one of H's favorite things to do is play Duplos while watching Curious George.) Uh-oh.
And I judge your marriage. Which is totally a sham as I'm a shrew of a wife. I mean I'm a total bitch. This morning I confessed to my Bible study group that it'd be easier to be nice to my husband if he were perfect and never lost his temper or forgot to bring up the laundry. That I'm so consumed with what I want and think I need that I can't even consider for two seconds being compassionate or merciful to the man I love. That I'm so unaware of my own need for forgiveness that I'm just angry all the time. Double Uh-oh.
This is no accident. I'm no victim. Your actions should not determine mine. So when my sippy cup ends up across the room, I can't cry 'uh-oh' because we both know how it got there.