I Didn't Do It

"Mom, that door down there is making a weird noise."

"What door?"

"The one downstairs. Come look. It's scaring me."

I had no idea what he was talking about. So I went downstairs to find this scene on the left. Oh, THAT door.

Hmmm, yes, that strange noise of glass cracking that just keeps going on and on and on . . .

You can guess what stupidly parental question I asked next.

"What happened?"

And the stupidly kid answer. "I don't know." Hmmmm.


Finally says that he "accidentally" kicked a rock while walking across the living room. But it still didn't make sense to me--even if he did kick a rock, he wasn't wearing shoes and he couldn't have possibly kicked it hard enough to do that much damage.

I pondered and pondered and surveyed the scene again. Viola! I believed I had found new evidence at the crime scene:

"Oliver, did you use the slingshot?"

"No!"

Hmmmm.

The next morning.

Me: "Oliver, when you used the slingshot, did you shoot a rock or one of those little metal balls?"

LONG pause with the deer-in-the-headlights look. I was sure I had him.

Oliver: "No."

Damn. At this point, it was just puzzling to me. I already knew he'd done it (he and I were the only ones at home at the time and I'm sure the dog, kittens or guinea pigs weren't responsible.)

Finally I said, "Look, I already know you did it and I already know it's broken. Just tell me how it happened."

"Okaaay, okaaay! I used the slingshot. But Mom, I was aiming for the wall but you know how bad my aim is!" Ah, 6-year old logic.

Who is the idiot that thought a sling shot was a good idea? We'll leave that for another day.