All the toilet paper went missing. Not some of it, not just the paper, but the dozen rolls as well.
I knew it was The Scribe. Why is she always guilty?
"Can I have a baton?" The Scribe asked.
"Not today . . . you'll have to play with something else." I paused. "Did you notice that all the toilet paper is gone? Even the rolls?" I asked her.
"No." She shook her head. "But I knew you'd say I couldn't get a baton. I haven't noticed anything about toilet paper though. I've been too busy cleaning the house."
"Really?" She has chores, but they aren't something she'll just volunteer to do. "Like what?"
"Doing the dishes. I put all my clothes and The Hippie's clothes away. Then I-took-out-the-garbage. I cleaned my shelves. I--"
"O-kay. You took out the garbage? Did you happen to throw away TWELVE ROLLS of toilet paper?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." She smiled.
So we sat across from each other. I told her we'd stay there, until she told the truth.
Have you ever had a showdown with your own kid? It's wild, like facing the other side of yourself, one who anticipates your every move! I blinked, then she would. I moved my left arm; she'd move her right. I didn't expect it to go on as long as it did, but suddenly The Scribe got bored and ended it. "I don't know what you're talking about, but I'd like to go play now. Sorry you like toilet paper so much."
"All right, but if you had something to do with this . . ."
She ran outside, hid near the lamb's ear bushes and worked for hours. The funny thing is, that she did clean a bit of the house. I knew because she'd put all the books away, closed the book shelf door and taped a note to it. The note read, "This took forever to clean. Please do not use ever again! I don't care if you like reading."
She'd left out one book for each of us. Apparently the only books I can ever read again are Spiderwick, Junie B. Jones (for The Hippie), a couple touch and feel books for the kids, my Bible and Lord of the Rings.
That cracked me up. I guess, I should consider having a funeral for the other books, since I'll never open them again!
I looked out the window at that point. I couldn't figure what she was doing, until she finally came in and said she had a surprise.
"I've prepared a show for you," she said. Then she pulled out two homemade batons and I almost fainted. "I knew you might get mad, but before you do, know this was the plan the whole time. I wanted to make you happy. I'm not just trying to get out of trouble."
The batons were ingenious, in a red-neck sort of way. She's put a water bottle at each end, and about four empty toilet paper rolls in between. She'd duct-taped the rolls, so water would slosh through as she danced.
Before I could say a word, or cry about my lack of two-ply, extra soft toilet paper, The Scribe passed a baton to The Hippie and my two girls started dancing. They flitted across the yard, laughed and giggled. They sang some rhythmic beat, and after they finished, they gave me a card.
"Mom," I read aloud, "We just want you to know how much we love you. That's why we cleaned the house and everything. Sorry about the toilet paper. It's in the big smelly garbage can. Maybe you can get it out sometime."
I turned the paper over and saw where The Hippie had written. "I love you, Mom," it read. "Plus, who made God?"
I laughed until I cried. I hugged them both so hard. They're sweet, and I've never been that happy to be out of bathroom supplies.
"I love you two," I said.
"But you didn't answer my question," The Hippie said. "Who did make God?"
So, do you think The Scribe was just trying to get out of trouble? Even if that was the case, she sure did a good job!