Remember the days when you could ask your child a simple question and get a simple response? Remember when conversations were delightful ways to develop bonds between family members? Ah, those were the days.
Parent-child questioning and civilized discourse in our household has recently been replaced by impassioned argument, faulty logic and unsupported rhetoric. It seems there is no easy answer to any question anymore: some questions have no answers and some are answered with simply a vacant stare or casual eye-roll. My kids are getting really good at constructing weakly supported responses and employing poor reasoning skills in answering me. I look forward to discovering how my children will one day put these skills into some useful endeavor, since they are becoming so good at it. Let's recap the week so far:
Who ate the marshmallows out of the Marshmallow Mateys and left only cereal? (No one, apparently; the manufacturer has cleverly packaged the cereal so that the last 1/3 of the bag doesn't actually contain marshmallows at all.)
Whose Kindle is on Mom's charger? (Since both Kindles are identical and we can't discover their identities until they have been recharged and turned on, we will shout loud accusations at each other in the meantime.) Update: Carys' Kindle. She swears she didn't do it despite forensic evidence to the contrary. Either way, Mom is unplugging it because she NEEDS her charger.
Where are the actual chargers for the Kindles? (*simultaneous shrugging*)
Who left their bike outside in the rain? (Everyone, but they cannot be faulted for this because Mom said come in to dinner NOW and they didn't want to disappoint her by taking too long to make it to the supper table.)
Why is Cooper's bed broken? (He "fell" on it. In just one corner. With enough force to rip the nails out of the footboard. It was an accidental fall, he DID NOT JUMP ON IT.)
Who has homework tonight? (*chirping crickets*)
Why are there candy wrappers from Easter baskets stuffed between the couch cushions? (Cooper says Carys did it, Carys says Emma did it, Emma says Cooper did it, Mom says hand over the rest of your candy right now, all three of you.)
Where are all the bath towels? (In closets, drawers, under beds and in the hamper in the upstairs bathroom, but absolutely no one put them there.)
Whose cup of dirty paint-water is sitting on the bathroom sink with paintbrushes in it? (Cooper's. He can't wash out the brushes. He just can't. Because he can't. Because he CAN'T. Go ahead and throw them away. He's done with them. The green one is already hard and crusty.)
Who left the sand bucket out on the beach? (Carys.)
Who is going to go out and get it? (Not Carys, because even though she was the last to play with it, she didn't get it out of the garage, Cooper did, so he should go and get it and also she isn't wearing any shoes. And not Cooper because even though he got it out, he was not the last person to play with it, so he is not going outside after dark to pick it up and also he is eating right now. And not Emma because she wasn't even outside after school and anyway, she is sick and tired of picking up after the little kids all the time and also she does have homework, as she suddenly remembers.)
I used to be fairly well-versed in public discourse, but my children are my kryptonite; I find myself resorting to sweeping generalizations and slippery-slope mentality as I attempt to find answers to my questions. "I don't care whose fault it is. I don't care who did it, or when they did it or how they did it or why. I don't care. Fix it. I don't care WHO fixes it. SOMEBODY FIX IT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD."
The only question I can ever ask safely:
Who wants ice cream? (The Dairy Freeze opens this weekend! Hallelujah!)
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