The Blame Game

We've been playing the blame game a lot lately.  I shouldn't be surprised, really, because when you're four years old, nothing is never-- I repeat, NEVER your fault.  There must be someone else to blame.

Or if you're Cael, some thing.

Cael has taken personification to a whole new level, assigning thought and motive to household items, body parts and anything in sight that could possibly be held responsible for the mistakes he himself has made.

"Cael, you'll never be able to get down from the table if you don't swallow that bite and finish your supper."

"I can't, Mommy.  The bite won't let me.  It's not my fault."

The first one was almost cute.  I guess that blaming a grossly over-chewed bite of sandwich for 50 minutes of lost play time is a victimless crime, but sometimes Cael's personification hurts others in the process.

"Ahh!  Mommy, Cael hit me with the drumstick!  In the neck!"

"No, no, Mommy.  Listen to this.  Are you ready?  Okay, listen.  Hear this-- this is crazy what I'm gonna say.  Okay.  The drumstick hit Graham.  I didn't do it at all!  The drumstick was just watching tv and it drove the car over here by Graham and jumped up into my hand!  And I said, 'what are you doing, drumstick?', but it did a dance in my hand and it bumped into Graham.  I totally wasn't me.  Not at all, just the drumstick."

And if that wasn't enough, "isn't that rude, Mommy?  I think that drumstick needs a time-out."

The drumstick isn't the only one.

After I'd heard a plethora of excuses that outlined the misbehaviors of his food, the drumstick, several independently flying toy cars, a walking diaper and a verbally abusive tupperware container, Cael pulled out all of the stops in an effort to avoid bedtime.

"Okay, bugger.  It's time for bed.  I need you to go potty and then I'll brush your teeth."

"I can't go potty, Mommy."

"Why not?"

"The pee won't come out."

"And why is that?"

"My peeper won't say the password."

"Are you serious?  Cael, just go potty." 

"It's not me, Mommy!  The pee is at the door and my peeper won't let it come out because it didn't say the password."

"Do you know the password, Cael?"

"Yeah, my foot told me."

"Sure it did.  What is the password?"

"It's 'ring around the rosy'."

"Okay.  You tell that to your peeper."

And he did.  And the whole situation was so utterly bizarre that I found myself half expecting his peeper to answer back.

"I told it, Mommy, but it said that I should play a little longer and try again later."

I told it to be quiet and do its job. 

As I tucked Cael into bed, whispering quietly so as not to wake up Graham, I urged him to make tomorrow a better day and to try his hardest not to blame other people and other things for his mistakes.  He promised to do his best and made one last plea to stay up late. 

"But Mommy, why do you have to put me to bed now?

"Because, Cael, the refrigerator made me do it."