CSI

I reached a breaking point this weekend and told the kids, "I grow WEARY of your lies." To say the least, they were both very put out by this assertion. But the gathering crescendos of blame, accusation and contradiction must come to an end. And I do not wish to accomplish it by expending money placing surveillance equipment in every nook and cranny of the house and then reviewing footage after every 'incident'...as satisfying as that may be..."Ahah! As you can see, Buzz Lightyear yanked off his OWN head out of pure despair; your sister had nothing to do with it. I call shenanigans! Everybody to their rooms!"

Crazy little critters.

I walked in from the store Saturday morning and noticed Giselle sinking behind the couch as I entered the door. The investigation alert went off, but I had to put the groceries away first. As I was putting things in the fridge, I noticed Harrison shuffling into the kitchen, catching sight of me, and turning right back around..."Hey buddy, what's up?" His mumbled reply, "Leave me alone," put the hair up on the back of my neck. "What's wrong Harrison?"..."Go away."..."ehhh...ALRIGHT WHAT DID YOU GUYS DO?" I knew this was going to take some time to sort out accurately, so I went to the bathroom first so I could interrogate and analyze with a clear head.

When I turned the water off after washing my hands, the house was as quiet as a crypt. I began peeking in rooms and finally ended up in the kitchen where I noticed Harrison standing in the cupboard with his back to me, "Okay, what..." He jumped like I goosed him and then went possum-still, maybe hoping I would mistake him for a broomstick or a stack of soup cans. So I reached in and pried him out so I could see what he had gotten into. Slowly I turned him around while he protested and told me to leave him alone, and that's when the great peanut butter travesty came into full view. The clown face of creamy tan smears glistening with saliva almost tickled my gag reflex, but I stamped that down as I jumped back and scrambled for the napkins before he could reach out and touch me or anything else. I made some quick wipes and then sprinted to the couch to extract his sister before she could exude any further peanutty creaminess on her surroundings. She wasn't happy about being jimmied out of her hiding spot either, but there were no evasions to be had this time. I had them both brown-handed.

There were some minor buck-passings of course: "She OPENED it!"..."HE made the MESS!", etc., but those were brushed aside as I lectured on the revolting vileness of finger-dipping and licking out of the jar and how every germ and crumb and particle from their mouths and hands was now festering and thriving in that oozing clot of a peanut butter jar that was henceforth theirs and theirs alone. And that if they wanted peanut butter that bad, I'd be happy to scoop a big lump of it on a plate for them any time they want, but no more raw finger double-dipping. Blehhhhhhh. I said that, "Blehhhhhhhhh!" That was my closing argument. And Giselle just stood there the whole time with her jaw cocked to one side and her eyes rolled up and away from me. Six years too early if you ask me.