who took the cookie from the cookie jar

Secrets. Everyone has them, we don't want them discovered. But what happens when they are uncovered? Well, normally someone is irked. Someone is hurt. Or someone is in seriously big trouble. Does any of that sound like something that happens in this house? Of course not, secrets are scarce in nature around her anyways.

There is the secrets the children hold dear. Who ate the last of the cereal. Who finger-painted in the toothpaste. Who shoved what under where. (Personally, I am quite content not knowin' the answer to these secrets.) But a child with a secret is a grenade without a pin. You know it's goin' to explode, so duck and cover.

Unfortunately for me, the kids feel the need to spill the beans constantly. The chaos, recriminations, and swingin' for the fences is soon to follow. Where does this leave me? Hiding. Or when that isn't an option-clapping my hand over the tattle tales mouth. Did either of these options occur today? Nope.

There was taunting, there was name calling, there is probably a black eye on the morrow. All over one thing-peanut butter. It went something like the old nursery rhyme game of my childhood.

Madison: Who took the peanut butter from the cupboard.
Degan: Martin took the pb from the cupboard.
Martin: Who me?
Degan: Yes you!
Martin: No way! Wasn't me.
Madison: Then who?

(Madison has special pb that is gluten free, and only available in the little jars. We don't buy many things not in bulk, but her and Honeybear are the only ones that are suppose to touch it. {Yeah I know. Wheat in peanut butter? What is wrong with these companies?})

What happened next was a great debate of where Madison's pb was. This situation soon dissolved into angry accusations, a little bit of back biting, and one unexpected head butt. That's right a head butt. Who was the culprit? I'll give you three guesses. Nope...Nu huh...you in the back. Yeah, you. Who did you say? You got it-Bella. The recipient? Martin.

What was the atrocious and odious act that incurred such wrath from my sweeter than honey, angelic two year old daughter? He snitched. He sang like a canary. He was a rat fink. And Bella did not appreciate it. Her comment as she walked smugly away wasn't any better. "Pooper mouth."

Should I be worried that the two year old runs the other three like the lions run the hyenas in the Lion King? The next sixty years should be fun. *sigh Anyone have some valium?