Huh?

"Can I play with my iPod?" B asked for the nth time. "No," I said. "You can't." I head toward the stairs. "Please," B adds. "Please can I play with my iPod?" "No," I repeat, climbing the stairs. "You can't play with your iPod." B follows me, relentlessly pestering me as I reach the washroom, floss and brush my teeth and even as I tell him to get out because I need to pee. "That's it," I say, exasperated. "Don't ask again for your iPod or you won't even be allowed to play with it this evening." B leaves quietly. He remains quiet as I finish my business. He remains quiet as I wash my hands. He remains quiet as I... start to worry. "B?" I call. "Where are you?" I dry my hands and peek in his bedroom. No B. I go downstairs and spot him immediately, sitting on the couch rather stiffly. His posture sends my Mommy instinct on high alert and my gaze sweeps the room. I realize then that I've left my purse, home of the coveted iPod, on the couch rather than put it on the closet shelf, well out of B's reach. "B," I draw closer to my little miscreant. "Did you get your iPod out of my purse?" A tight little squeal bursts out of his mouth and his hands fidget with the cushion to his left. I reach for the purse and sure enough, the iPod is missing. I shake my head at my son and reach for the cushion, uncovering the iPod. "B, I'm disappointed in you." For an instant, his jaw hangs slack then he recovers, frowning angrily, "What does that even MEAN?"