It Wasn't Me!

"It wasn't me, I swear, Mom! I had nothing to do with the Ovaltine heist!"

As I was printing up some documents for my upcoming Holiday Bazaar, the house became strangely quiet. Any mother knows this is a sign of a storm brewing. While I prayed that my kids were just watching the vintage 1983 My Little Pony episode on VHS (the one that just barely rewinds, it's been played so much), I decided that investigation was best, even if it meant interrupting my work.

Then I heard water running. I walked to the bathroom to see my daughter had turned on the faucet on the sink in order to wash her hands. She had telltale smears on her cheeks and hands, which had rubbed off onto the faucet and soap dispenser. "What is it you think you're doing, Izzy?" I asked her. "Washing my hands," she coyly replied. "Where's your brother?" I asked. "Upstairs" was all she said.

I walked slowly upstairs, and on the eigth of thirteen steps I could smell it - the sickly-sweet Whoppery smell of chocolate malt Ovaltine. Eli was covered in it, and was still holding the jar. What was once full was now... EMPTY. All over my son, all over my daughter, all over my light-beige carpet. And it couldn't just be sitting on the carpet, it had to be slobbered on and ground in, too. I actually have to steam-clean it up, not just vacuum. And before I could even get the bath running, Eli had smeared the gooey stuff all over my freshly-printed documents for work.

In order to reach the Ovaltine, Izzy had to have had guts. I found a chair pushed up to the counter. She had to have climbed up onto the counter and onto the microwave to reach the Ovaltine on the top shelf in the cabinet above the microwave. I can barely reach it on my tiptoes. That takes talent.

But hey, at least she shared.