Some Body's Shoes

Will is at that stage in childhood where he is attempting to pass the blame, only it's really hard to do when you are the only child around.

He'll be helping me with the dishes and suddenly pass gas in a loud and obnoxious way.

"Will! Did you just fart?"

A stupid question to be sure, but an automatic one. His reply?

"No. Papa did it."

If Steve was home I might be willing to consider it, but he's not. Will doesn't just choose his father as his patsy. He has blamed things on Rocky and Bullwinkle (our dogs), Mr. Scott (our neighbor), and assorted stuffed animals.

Apparently everyone he knows is responsible for wearing his clothes, moving his shoes, tracking in dirt, farting and burping, dropping things, pushing things off shelves, and making a general mess of my house.

I try not to make a big deal out of it when he attempts to pass blame. I know it's just part of the developmental process. Sometimes I joke with him; letting him know I don't believe him. Sometimes I point out why it couldn't have been _____ who did something - it's really hard to believe even Steve could fart so loud that we'd hear him from twenty miles away.

Apparently he's listening.

We stopped by Burger King for lunch last week and after getting our food went into the play area. There was only one other family in the room. A mom and two small children, all sitting at a table and eating. Will kicked off his shoes and put them in the cubbie before heading to the entrance of the playscape.

I'm pulling everything off the tray and sitting the table when I hear:

"Someone left their shoes over here.
Shoes go in the cubbie."

Sure enough, I look over and Will is pointing out the correct location for shoe storage to the mom of two. He's a stickler for others following the rules.

The mom replies. "They're not ours."

Will looks at her like she's lying and shrugs his shoulder. With a sigh, he turns to crawl back into the playscape.

"Well, they're some body's shoes."