So...Reagan comes strolling downstairs and casually moseys up next to me at my computer.
Me: “Whatcha guys doing up there? Playing with your Barbies?”
Reagan: “Yes, just playing. Not cutting.”
The interrogation begins. My head whips a quarter turn to meet her eyes, tilts in a disapproving Mom manner, eyes narrowed: “Cutting? What are you cutting?”
Me: “Did you find a pair of scissors?”
Me: “Are you lying, Reagan?”
The Little Liar: (extremely long pause) “No.”
Reagan turns and heads to the stairs. I rise and follow the lead.
Reagan: “Are you coming up to play with us, Mommy?”
Me: “No, I’m coming up to see what you’ve been cutting.”
Her eyes widen, and she double times it up the stairs. Abby is playing with the giant pink Barbie Brothel.
Reagan: “See, Mom, we’re just playing.”
Me: “Abby, were you two cutting something?”
Reagan looks at Abby, bug eyed. I swear I can see her slightly shaking her head ‘no’.
With a pointing finger, Abby turned State’s Evidence. On the floor beneath the Little Tykes table was a pile of foam nugget confetti from a purple alphabet puzzle, and two pages of a Chick-Fil-A kid’s meal book cut into perfect two inches strips. And a dainty pair of sharp pointed pink scissors. I pick them up and inspect the loveseat, curtains and carpet for damage. Then checked their hair for new, unauthorized coifs. All clear.
Me: “So, who did the cutting?”
Abby (nonchalantly pointing to the defendant’s table from the proverbial
stand): “Reagan did.”
The look on Reagan’s face confirmed the accusation. Her gaze dropped to the floor. I bit my lip, trying not to smile.
The verdict was in. Guilty.
Reagan: “Sorry, Mommy.”
The sentence was delivered.
Me: “Pick up every little piece you cut and throw them away. And you have to tell Daddy what you did.”
The Little Convict: “NOooo….he’ll be upset with me.”
Then I handed my prisoner over to the warden. Don’t worry—he paroled her in time for dessert. :)