When I used the restroom today, the door was ajar. It may sound gross, but let me tell you, it beats listening to screaming toddlers and watching their chubby little fingers reach under the door. However, both kids seemed to be playing contentedly, and I was hopeful I would not be interrupted for once. Then I heard Parker's footsteps and watched the door shut. "I'm giving you some privacy, mommy." The Hallelujah chorus was ringing in my ears... Moments later, however: Bang. Scream. "Sorry, Maddie." More screaming. "Sorry Maddie!"
I rushed out of the bathroom. Maddie was crying and rubbing her head. A small, very hard plastic ball lay nearby.
Me: What happened?
Parker: The ball just flew down from the sky and hit her in the head. (miraculous)
Me (more specific this time): Did you throw it at her?
Parker: No.
Me: (more specific still - I swear this kid's going to be a lawyer): Did you throw the ball up and and when it came down it just hit her in the head?
Parker: Yes...I said I was sorry two times...I even kissed her, but it didn't help.
He shrugged, genuinely baffled as to why his actions didn't make her "owies" all better.
*Sigh* At least he's trying.
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