When I picked up Michael recently, sans the girls (Dan was giving them a ride home from his office), he asked to sit in our third row seat — what we call the backy-back.
I said sure, moved his car seat, and got him belted in.
Glancing back as I was driving home, I saw M pick up a can of seltzer water that one of the girls had left in the backy-back cup holder from the weekend and take a sip. I thought, “Ugh.”
“Well, dat was a bad idea,” he declared a moment later.
“Yeah, I bet,” I said.
“It was an accident,” he said.
M does this a lot, says things are accidents when he’s very clearly chosen to do something that doesn’t turn out well. I’m starting to get a little concerned about it, because I don’t want him shrugging off responsibilities for his actions.
“Buddy, I’m not sure you know what that means,” I said. “Do you know what an accident is?”
“Sure. It’s something dat you’re sorry for.”
That would explain a lot.