The other day I spent about 40 minutes in my den standing in front of the wall of windows that look out onto my backyard.
I was not standing there in amazement watching agile squirrels with spring fever jump from branch to branch like acrobats. I was not taking in the beauty of budding trees or the glory of the changing seasons. No, I was untangling six tightly wound little clumps of nylon cord to six ventian blinds that cover six windows.
The knotting was not the accidental tangling that sometimes occurs with ventian blind cords. The knotting was the work of an evil sailor with wicked boy scout knotting skills.
Later that day I asked Sean how the ventian blind cords had gotten tangled up so badly. “Regan?” he quickly suggested.
“I don’t think it was Regan,” I said. “Besides, she hasn’t been here since last week.”
“Um… Kendall? I think it was Kendall.”
“Kendall is only two. She’s too short. Besides, this is an inside job. It would have been done by someone who has the time and the means.”
At that point, he shrugged his shoulders and ran away.
When you are an only child you have to oursource the blame.