I Breed Scapegoats

I was telling a friend of mine this morning that the reason I couldn’t talk to her via skype was because my kids had wrecked my microphone headset.

Mid-sentence I stopped short because that inconvenient voice inside my head (named Conscience) cleared his throat meaningfully. I then had one of those rapid-fire dialogues in my own head that take up less than a second in real time…

Me: Yes? What is it?

Conscience: Your kids wrecked your headset?

Me: Yes, what about it?

Conscience: Wasn’t it you who first walked away from the desk still wearing it and jerked the wire loose?

Me: Well, I may have…

Conscience: And haven’t you run over the lead at least many times as your kids?

Me: Er, maybe, but…

Conscience: And when exactly have the kids used the microphone facility? I seem to remember them constantly folding the mic flat against the earphones where it won’t get damaged…

Me: Okay! Okay… Rotten lousy conscience…

… and so I went on to correct myself as I talked with Leah: “Well, actually I’ve proabably done as much damage to it as the kids have -”

(Conscience: A-hem!)

“- if not more.”

This lead to Leah and I discussing how often we blame kids for stuff that either we did or nobody “did”. (”Isn’t that why we have kids?” she chipped in).

Now that I think of it, I’m constantly emabarrassing myself by blaming kids for something only to discover I’m at fault. The scene usually plays out like this (& you’d have thought that the video tape would’ve worn thin at this scene but it keeps on going!):

Me: Where the hell is my Widget?

Ninja (my longsuffering wife): Dunno, hon. Where did you leave it?

Me: Right here next to the keyboard. I know I did! Son, what did you do with it??

Oldest Son: (Highly anxious and defensive) Nothing! I haven’t touched it!

Me: You sure you didn’t move it? You were on the computer last night.

Oldest Son:(Angry) I don’t even know what it is! I didn’t touch anything on the desk.

Me: (Under my breath) You touched the keyboard AND the mouse… (Louder) Sunshine! Did you move Daddy’s Widget??

Youngest Son: (Non-anxious, self-defined) No, Daddy.

(I now rummage around the house, especially through the kids’ bedrooms until Ninja appears in the doorway holding… the Widget).

Me: Oh, thankyou God. All is well with the world now that my Widget is returned to me. (To Ninja) Where’d you find it?

Ninja: (Wearing The Look) On the dresser. By your side of the bed.

Me: (Suddenly realising my folly … again). Oh. That’s right.

Ninja: What?

Me: I kind of … put it there. Last night.

Ninja: … Mm…

(And I trudge off to offer another round of apologies to 2 very gracious boys)

***

I really have to break this habit. In fact, I’m going to drive over to a counsellor right away!

Now where are my carkeys? …

“… Boys!?!”