I have a hypothetical question for you.
Imagine you are searching for your boy's favorite sweatshirt.
You have looked in all the usual, obvious places, like, oh say, the designated hook in the laundry room, which is oh-so-perfect for hanging a favorite sweatshirt. But no, you peek in the laundry room and the hook is there, on the wall, proud and tall. And sweatshirt-less.
You look in the playroom. You look in the family room. You look in the bathroom. You look in the pantry. You look under the kitchen table. You look in the garage.
It is time for your boy to leave for school. Feeling frustrated from not being able to find the sweatshirt, he declares that it is, "STOLEN!" and you suppress your laughter out of sensitivity for your child. Because yo. It could happen. There are street gangs devoted entirely to the favorite-sweatshirt-stealing business. They will sneak into your home and leave all your valuables untouched and make off in the night with your sweatshirts as their plunder.
Heed my warning and lock 'em up, people. Lock. Them. Up.
Finally, your boy shrugs his shoulders in disappointment, and puts his second-favorite sweatshirt over his school uniform. It will have to do for today.
Hypothetically, of course.
As his hypothetical Dad loads up his hypothetical car and takes your hypothetical son and his hypothetical brothers off to hypothetical school for a hypothetical day, you, the hypothetical mother realize that the sweatshirt situation is now bothering you. You know you just saw it a day earlier, and the fact that it is missing starts to bother you. The missing sweatshirt is stuck in your craw.
So you continue your search.
You put yourself in the mind of a boy and you think, "Hmm. If I were a shortie, where would I stash my stuff?"
You go up to your child's bedroom and you survey the area, but your initial scan does not reveal the sweatshirt's location. As you complete your search of the dirty laundry basket, which does not produce the favorite sweatshirt, a lightbulb goes off in your head.
You remember that your boy was reading his brand-new copy of, "Diary of a Wimpy Kid: The Ugly Truth" last night while wearing his sweatshirt! Perhaps he got too warm while snuggling under the covers, shed the sweatshirt and it made its way down the tight crevice between the wall and his bed.
As you look down there, you feel a sense of triumph. The sweatshirt! It has been found! Mother of the Year Award goes to YOU! YOU! YOU!
You yank the sweatshirt up by its blue arm, and what you see down the side of the bed pops your triumphant bubble of happiness.
You see this.
Halloween candy wrappers. Down the side of the bed. By the dozens. Eaten upstairs covertly.
You think, hypothetically, that if your child was home from school at that moment, a punishment would be imminent. Why the need for sneakiness? After all, you are not stingy doling out the hypothetical Halloween candy. It sits in a big, hypothetical bowl on top of the hypothetical refrigerator, out of the reach of hypothetical little hands, but nearby and ready to be passed out for a little dessert after a hypothetical meal has been eaten, or as a hypothetical small snack.
So why the need to sneak it up to his bedroom?
Why? Why??? WHY????
That's just what kids do. I'm sure I did it. It doesn't make it right. But it does make it so. And your hypothetical child probably snuck his favorite candies in a stash up to his bedroom to keep it away from his hypothetical brothers and sister, who ALWAYS eat his candy. Hypothetically.
You, as the hypothetical mother are in a pickle. What do you do? Your hypothetical boy is a good boy, and rarely runs afoul of the laws of the house. Hypothetically speaking, he is an active boy, and loves to exercise, so that is not a problem. Do you pretend you haven't seen this? Do you allow your child to get away with the candy dash-and-run? Does a candy dash-a-run precede a life of crime? Or is it just what it is? A candy stash.
My head hurts from all this thinking.
Hypothetically, of course.