One is guilty.
Time for making choices.
A broken bowl. Inexpensive but one of my favorites. I’m really pissed off and want the truth. I can’t handle the truth. It not about the bowl. It’s the principle.
They stand there looking up at me. Both on the defense. Both whining. My children have crossed the proverbial line with bullshit like…
I didn’t touch it!
I didn’t even look at it!
You should’ve never put candy in it, Mom!
Redirection of Blame
It was ugly anyway.
Words To Make Me Lose My Shit.
I’m torn between anger and complete freak out. Over a bowl.
The morbid thought that entered my mind was of that scene in “Sophie’s Choice” where Glenn Close had to choose between her children.
That was more life and death. This is about a stupid, replaceable bowl.
It was then that I calmed the fuck down.
Guys, answer me this? Were you throwing a toy that I asked you not to?
In unison, “yes”.
Then the toy is now mine. How are we going to fix the bowl situation? I can’t put it back together. So, you must work off the chore of cleaning it up since the pieces can cut you and I don’t want you hurt. I’ll be picking up my bowl. You will be dusting and vacuuming this room after I’m done. Who will dust and who will vacuum?
Both talk at once. I already know who is going to do what. I hush them.
No, I’m letting the coin decide. Heads, CP vacuums. Tails, Hallie dusts.
“Okay”, in unison.
Are you both responsible for the bowl breaking?
What do you need to do now?
and dust and vaccuum. Get to it.
I headed to Etsy to see if I could replace the bowl while my kids cleaned house or realistically, move around the dust and push dirt on the carpet back and forth. They aren’t cleaners.
But that wasn’t the point, right?
The best part?
I didn’t have to make a choice.