Grand Theft Caramel-Toffee Scones

Ok…so the title just doesn’t have the punch that “Grand Theft Auto” has. But I hope my little thief never gets to that level of crime.

Each morning, all three children hurry down the steps to the carport and wide-open running spaces as far as their little legs can carry them. But until the twins can walk and explore at knee-level, I have to separate them from a definite mouthful of yummy looking pea gravel! An empty plastic pool, picnic table, and wagon block their freedom on one side while a playpen, tractor, and chair block the other end.

Wyatt usually plays beyond the barricades with his tractors while I enjoy a round of cattle, uh--twin herding. There are two escape strategies: one twin distracts mommy by eating something that escaped the broom while the other twin frantically crawls towards a hole in the barricade. Or, they simply push the barricade’s objects apart. They’re like cats—if their heads fit, their bodies will too…well, in theory, anyway.

But Wednesday, Wyatt was tired of playing in the mugginess. With cheeks deeply flushed and hair darkened by sweat, he told me he was going inside “for a week.” I smiled at this new mis-concept of time but let him go. There wouldn’t be much more outside time anyway before the building clouds spilled forth onto the cement.

Ten minutes later, I barged right into a crime in progress. The sound of a plastic lid not finding the right groove. Of feet and arms moving hastily to shove the now-almost empty container on top of the cabinet. Of a fumbling over words to explain.

A half container of his daddy’s scones, gone. Only one remained…. with a large semicircle gap in its side. Victims of what I assume is a carb-craving growth spurt.

After I got over my Wyatt-what-do-you-think-you’re-doing shock, he was in tears.

“You’re in trouble because you stole daddy’s cakes.”

“I no steal.”

“Did you ask first?”

“No.”

“When you take something that’s not yours without asking first, that’s stealing.”

A penitent, still-crying little boy reluctantly followed me to the couch where we opened up the First Bible Stories book to a picture of a mountain and a short list of ten sentences: “God’s Rules.".Hard lessons. That mommy would have given him the cake….if he would have only asked. That God is sad because he stole. That the consequences of sin are worse than just not going to Opa’s one afternoon.

Today started with yet another re-reading of God’s rules, this time pausing at number five about God wanting us to obey and respect mommy and daddy.

I think I might as well just put a permanent bookmark on that page.