Real Time

I'm whooped and ready for a nap, and a quick walk upstairs to put Cadence to bed made me want to curl myself under covers and fahgettaboutit. The entire upstairs hall (i.e. the boys' bedroom) was covered yet again with a layer of clothing, toys, shoes, socks, books, etc., mostly from Sir Aidan Raphael.

Then I came downstairs and picked up multiple pairs of his dirty socks from the library (a new pair for each time he's gone outside to play in mud today) and stared around at the staggering amount of mess he, Skylark, and Cadence had achieved this morning. I called him downstairs from his bed to put away an armful of stuff I'd accumulated in 30 seconds. Trying to be gracious, I asked him if the upstairs was messy. "Yeeeees, " he murmured, looking up at me through his lashes, knowing full well why it was such a wreck.

I then moved in for the coup d'etat.
"Who made all that upstairs mess?" I gently asked.
He brightened considerably. "Dod dib," he said.

I tried to stifle my laughter but was unsuccessful.
This boy knows children's catechism 1 & 2, at least.

Q. Who made you?
A. God made me.

Q. What else did God make?
A. God made all things.




*Edit: For those who don't know Aidan and now think he's a shrewd little liar, he misunderstood my question and thought I was asking who made the upstairs. (In his mind, obviously God, because it is part of all things.) When I explained and then asked a second time who made the mess, he, again with a murmur and looking up through those eyelashes, "Me dib."
The End.