I opened the green binder to sign the boys out of school. And there was the ominous folded sheet paper.
The Xeroxed Incident/Accident report. With “Incident” prominently circled. Oh goodie.
Bubbly blue handwriting scrawled across the faded purple/black lines:
The kids were playing outside. One of them was lying on the grass. Destroy ran up and kicked his friend in the face. He had a time-out and then had to sit with me during outside time. I had talked to him earlier after he kicked a friend in the stomach.
I grumbled and signed acknowledgement.
And stalked down to the sandbox to retrieve my little miscreant.
“Mommeeee!” squealed the little ones as they sprinted toward me.
“I didn’t get in trouble,” noted a rather precocious Search.
“Destroy,” I began. “Did you kick your friend?”
His little head dropped. “Mmmhmmm,” he mumbled.
“Because…” he stuttered. “Because I did it.”
“You know better than that,” I reprimanded. “Are you supposed to kick your friends?”
“No! We no kick friends,” proclaimed Search proudly.
“Why did you kick your friend?” I asked again.
“NOOO!” wailed Destroy, flinging himself to the floor. “He say I Search. I not a Search. I Destroy.”
(At least we know the twins are secure in their identities.)
At this point, Destroy clammed up and decided to embrace his right to remain silent.
“Bonnie and AJ,” said Search tattled.
Excellent. Kick the principal’s son. Because *that* won’t get you kicked out of school. (Destroy is going to get in trouble later in life – he’s so going to be the “Dude! I dare you” guy that takes all the dares.)
With that parental experience conquered it was time to move on to the next crisis of the afternoon. (And all before we reached the exit gate.)
Search realized his Hot Wheels sticker (a well-earned reward from the doctor for not having pneumonia) was no longer affixed to his shirt.
“Well what happened to it?”
“The chickens ate it,” he replied.
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