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.