Mr. Nobody

My son, Andrew, is learning a poem called, "Mr. Nobody".

I know a funny little man,
As quiet as a mouse,
Who does the mischief that is done
In everybody's house!
There's no one ever sees his face,
And yet we all agree
That every plate we break was cracked
By Mr. Nobody

`Tis he who always tears our books,
Who leaves the door ajar,
He pulls the buttons from our shirts,
And scatters pine afar;
That squeaking door will always squeak,
For, prithee, don't you see,
We leave the oiling to be done
By Mr. Nobody

The finger marked upon the door
By none of us are made;
We never leave the blind unclosed,
To let the curtains fade.
The ink we never spill; the boots
That lying round you. See
Are not our boots they all belong
To Mr. Nobody.

One of the Mr. Nobodys in our house is... you guessed it... Peter! My mischievous 3 year old kept dumping the shoes out of the very large shoe box we have for all the kids to keep their shoes. With six children, the box is quite full. After the fourth time I found the contents all over the floor, I sought out Peter and asked him if he dumped out the shoes.

Very innocently he responded, "It wasn't me, mom!"

I replied, "I think you did it, Peter."

He said, "I didn't do it, mom!" Then holding out his hands towards me, "It was my hands!"