My son is three years old and was trying to be helpful this morning. He was fetching and carrying various items of clothing out of the laundry room with me and then started piling up other clothes in the hopes of us putting those away too, not realizing that those were from the “dirty laundry pile”.

As I left the bedroom I asked him to come back out too. He’s not allowed to stay in our bedroom by himself for a variety of reasons. I’m crossing the dining room when I hear the door slam shut but not the distinctive clomp-clomp of him following after me.

I turn back around and open the door. I find a wall plaque of an eagle that is my husbands is on the bed, and the wing on the left side is broken.

“What happened to this?” I ask.
“I don know,” he answers.
“Did you do this?”
“Emmitt did it,” he says pointing to Kore’s cat who is curled up on one of the file boxes in our room looking rather sleepy and perplexed.
“Emmitt did this?” I hold up the broken eagle.
“Yes, and Nim did it,” he says, meaning my cat who has been upstairs all morning, “and BF too,” Kore’s other cat who is outside.
“Hm,” I say, “Are you sure you don’t want to tell me the truth?”
“Nim did it and BF did it,” he nods and folds his arms.
“I think you need to go to your room until you’re ready to tell me the truth.”
“No, I think not.”

Guess who won?