Termites!

That’s what she said, “Termites!” The word was presented in the half-panicked voice of an eight-year-old diva, our little drama princess.

I hauled my backside out of my chair to investigate. She said there was a hole in the wall and, “Termites are eating our house.” The laundry room was where I found her, jabbing a finger capped with a dirty fingernail toward the baseboard. Sure enough, there was a hole in the wall.

Now, the funny thing about this hole was the location. It was in the dry wall, not the wood baseboard. And the shape of it bore a striking resemblance to the toe of a small boot.

Rewind to a couple of days previous when our little diva was pitching a hissy about not being allowed to do what she wanted when she wanted. As I recall, she had gone into the laundry room to remove her muddy boots—as ordered. I remember the sound of a violent attack on said wall and the threat I didn’t bother to disguise that I hurled through the closed door.

Also, as I recall, she suddenly capitulated. She exited the room with her muddy boots removed, a sheepish smile on her face and promises to behave. Being a mom, I should have known something was up.

But all that lay forgotten as we tried to figure out upon whom to lay the blame. The husband denied any knowledge of said hole. Though it was big enough for the very tip of one of his over-sized clod-hoppers, it was too deep. For him to have made a hole that deep, it would have been much larger in circumference.

His denials were followed by the diva reminding him of the time he put a hole in the drywall of her room. Anyone who knows my husband knows that he’s somewhat of a giant. As with many of his size, he lacks a certain grace and things get broken. Still, his denials—and his embarrassment of being reminded of previous damage—were sincere enough I had to believe him.

In the meantime, Diva packed up her little shoulder bag and beat a hasty retreat to the neighbor’s house. Still pondering the mystery, I thought of the bag I had taken to work the day before. It was heavy, laden with munchies for my coworkers and a half-gallon thermos of hot water for the tea I require to get through the day. Could I have done it while leaving for work and not have known it? Could the thermos have caused such a dent?

No.

That’s when I remembered the hissy in the laundry room. It had to have been when it happened.

My theory? The child has been worried someone would notice the damage and begin to ask questions. Being a smart little diva, she decided bring attention to it in a way that would protect herself.

Blame termites.

Well, that didn’t work, so she brought up past indiscretions and laid it in her father’s lap, then got the hell out of dodge before the fallout. She thinks she escaped, is likely breathing a sigh of relief as she plays with the other drama princess in the neighborhood.

Oh, just wait ‘til she gets home.