She’s not giving me any credit at all.

 
I’ve been a mother far too long for her to get away with this one.

 
This pose, this odd shape she’s morphed her body into, this strange placement on her bed, not in the middle but curled, twisted, one leg jutting off in the most unnatural way. She should be embarrassed. Does she think I haven’t seen this before?

 
It’s the first time parent’s equivalent of a kid hiding under an area rug. Yep, kids do that. They think they’re invisible because if they can’t see you, the possibility exists you can’t see them. It’s laughable. A kid shaped rug sitting in the middle of a hallway shaking from all of the giggling going on underneath.

 
But last night, Chloe’s stiff body organized in such a way it screamed, “I’ve done something. I’m hiding something. Don’t ask. Don’t look around my room.”

 
I walked over to her and her chin receded into her neck and then eventually her chest swallowed her entire head.

 
She said quickly, “Choose a book Mommy, whatever you like. Choose a book from the book shelf and then sit right beside me.”

 
Hmmm.

 
She stroked the cover on her bed suggesting I could sit in one designated area only and pressed down hard on the blanket.

 
I glanced at the book shelf pretending to find our night time reading and then pivoted on one foot and peeled the corner of her comforter off of her bed to expose what I can only describe as a combination of mud and black ink.

 
What?

 
Chloe, unlike my other girls who would have immediately started to explain what had happened just stood up, started walking towards her light switch shaking her head. Her hands were covered in what looked like soot.

 
“Like I don’t know…..like I don’t even know what this is…..I don’t know what happened…..so……like…..”

 
“Chloe, were you drawing in your bedroom?”

 
“No. I don’t know why my hands are black. I have no idea.”

 
Shoved under her bed was a piece of black paper. The kind you scrape the top layer off with a wooden tool to expose a picture below. It’s every parent’s nightmare if it gets on anything upholstered and every Dollarama employee’s secret joke on their loyal, crafty customers.

 
I didn’t have to ask her where the tool was.

 
I think we both knew the answer.