Would I lie to you, honey? Now would I say something that wasn't true?

Yesterday, someone in my home lied to me.  And this is the story of how that little lie unraveled.  There are no good pictures, sorry.  Just colorful story telling.  I am keeping the name of the perpetrator a secret because I really don't want to embarrass said perpetrator.  Those of you who know us well will most certainly recognize said perpetrator in this little anecdote, but I will ask that you don't identify him or her in the music notes.

After breakfast and various homework/ chore/ babysitting assignments, Mr. Neoclassic and I left for the First Eucharist Parent Retreat where I would be giving a portion of the presentation.  I needed to help set up the retreat space and practice the opening song.  The children remained at home, under the able supervision of Classic Rock, for about 3.5 hours. I understand they played outside, they watched a bit of tv and managed to feed themselves. 

After running an errand and arriving home, Mr. Neoclassic needed to drive to his office and retrieve important paperwork.  During his absence, I opened the freezer for ice cubes and found the topic of the lie.  In the freezer was a container of ice cream - turtle praline sundae - with lid askew and, lying in the freezer tray next to the container, a spoon with ice cream remnants.  I replaced the lid and removed the spoon, staring at it knowingly.  Oh, I knew exactly whodunit.

I piled the children into the van to deliver the last few boxes of Girl Scout cookies [commentary possible here, but I will resist] and then drop Classic Rock off at his Youth Group meeting.  While meandering through our neighborhood, I mentioned the state of the ice cream container and spoon, asking for the culprit to identify him or herself.  And of course, they were all aghast that such a thing could be done.  Not one of them could possibly be so crass [Classic Rock's word].  To their credit, none of the older ones blamed the two year old.

Then I pulled out the big guns, so to speak.  I explained that, because the spoon had been in the perpetrator's mouth, it was covered with DNA.  Upon returning home, I would use a Q-tip to brush the inside of each child's cheek, then send their sample off with the spoon for testing.  Yes, I had already found a lab to perform the analysis [wink, wink].  The culprit would be responsible for the test fees, as well as any and all disciplinary actions, forfeitures of privilege, and other heinous punishments Mr. Neoclassic and I were in a mood to concoct.  Then I retreated into silence, choosing to listen to uplifting Christian music.

Upon arriving back home, one child followed me to my bedroom and confessed to the entire act.  We chatted a bit about falsehoods and blaming others.  We threw out a few good Bible quotes concerning truth, virtue, and character.  Then we hugged and all was right with the world.

They still think I know where to send out for a DNA test.  I don't watch BONES just for David Boreanaz, you know!  Ha, just joking there.