Oldest, 11. Youngest two, 8.
My kids have shown me that bad luck is all in your point of view.
One Sunday evening, my eleven year old was finishing a very intricate piece of homework. She had been working on it all weekend. When she took a break to watch some TV, her sister slipped in to her chair to take a look at the homework paper. She picked up a pencil and pretended to work the problems herself. In the midst of her pretending, she accidentally wrote on the paper.
I happened to catch this accidental moment and the two of us instantly knew she was in big trouble. My goal was to help avoid what could be a very loud problem without being detected, so I quietly handed my eight year old an eraser and mimed the action of removing the evidence.
She caught on quickly and feverishly started working away: back and forth and back and forth and back and forth. I should have known, but the unthinkable happened. The homework paper ripped in half. My oldest daughter sat up in her chair like a rocket.
“Dad, she ruined my project!”
“Nu-uh!” her sister said, holding up both pieces. “The eraser ripped it.”
She was quite pleased with this technically truthful statement and quickly slipped out of the room while my oldest slipped into a meltdown. I calmed her nerves and, like an archaeologist, taped the two torn pieces of homework back together. She gently moved it from the table to the counter.
After dinner, we all cleared our plates from the table and just as my wife started to tell our youngest daughter to be careful; she knocked a glass over, spilling apple juice all over the newly repaired homework.
My oldest daughter exploded into tears. I launched into Emergency Response Mode, dabbing the paper dry, while my youngest daughter jauntily left the room saying to her sister; “Man, you are having some bad luck today!”
Sorry, got to go. More later.