Little kids' mischief

I used to have a yard customer with a toddler who, early one morning, wandered into the kitchen, took a bowl of chocolate pudding out of the refrigerator, smeared the pudding all over himself, and then went into his parents’ room and got in bed with them!
My younger brother wanted to do his part of household chores, even before his 4th birthday. He sprinkled kitchen cleanser (Comet, I think) all over the living room carpet, thinking that would clean it!
Please post here exasperating stunts you, as little kids, pulled, or other little kids you know of.

When small boys ask “where’s the Super Glue?”, don’t give it to them. Two of mine used it on outside door locks at their school. Said they were protesting the teacher strike. (At ages 9 and 11?)

When your 10-year-old son uses his paper route money to buy a high-powered slingshot, just get out the checkbook. (Picture window, house across a 4-lane road and half a block away.)

When they get up before you, and they’re too quiet? No, they’re not getting out the Rice Krispies and milk – they’re putting peanut butter and jelly on the sofa cushions and making a really BIG sandwich.

Legos and Lincoln Logs disappearing? Check the heating ducts.

And keep your scissors out of reach if you want your cats to keep their whiskers.

My son, at about seven years old, completely covered my prized older Ford with rubbing compound, thinking to surprise me with a gleaming, freshly waxed car. I explained the difference, he and I washed and rubbed (and rubbed and rubbed)the old car and made the best of it. How I wish the entire episode could take place again tomorrow.

As the owner of two little germ sponges (daughter, 4 and son, 7), I could ramble fer days on this subject . . .

Just one incident for starters – a few months ago my daughter spilled some juice on her sweater, and decided that she should hide the evidence. So she took off the sweater, snuck upstairs, and flushed the sweater down the toilet. Well, most of the way down the toilet anyway . . .

Dr. Watson
“Recent Graduate of the Major Plumbing Repair Institute.”

Ah, the blessed (sorta) anonymity of the net. My mother assured me that when I was a tiny child I pooped in her suitcase. Seems the concept of toilet training was going well, but the details got confusing.

We were visiting my grandmother and mom had left her suitcase open on the floor after she unpacked. Apparently my infant mind failed to notice the lack of water or the strange shape of the receptacle.

And this was in the day when luggage was lined with proper cloth, not plastic.


My niece would give Damien (of Omen fame) a run for his money in the evil department. I have more “mischief” stories than we have room for but I’ll settle for retelling just this one.

Her mother is a void in the discipline department so she often leaves Mary by herself. One day she realized Mary was being too quiet and started to look for her only to find out she had gone outside (Mary is four.) She found Mary crouching over her little plastic swimming pool with the family kitten submerged under the water. My sister-in-law pulled the kitten out, squeezed its stomach and blew in its face. It puked and then screeched and ran away.

Later, I asked her what she did today, trying to get her to tell me her story. She said, “I killed Mommy’s cat!”–in a voice so cheerful only a child could have. I said, in my sternest voice, “Why did you do that?” and her face showed an utterly blank expression and she said, “We didn’t want to do it…” Creepy, no?

Of course, this is the same child who told us to shut up one night at dinner because she couldn’t hear what her pizza was saying…

The dumber people think you are, the more surprised they’re going to be when you kill them.

Evilbeth, that is so creepy, but I have been laughing so hard that tears are streaming down my face! Where do kids get these things?!

I was a pyro when I was a kid. When I was little, my sisters and I, on several occasions, sat in the crawlspace under our house, lighting matches. Really smart, but especially with natural gas lines for the stove and furnace down there!! One time, while my sisters were at school, I was in my room (I was age 3 or so) with a pack of matches (Mom was probably watching the soaps), lighting them, and just blowing or shaking them out. When I was lighting one, the head of the match, when igniting, stuck to my finger and burned, so I shook my hand really hard, and the match went flying. I assumed it went out. Wrong. It flew into the closet and landed on a blouse on the floor. Burned it pretty good, too, before my Mom smelled it, and came running. I got a good spanking for that, and a long, long lecture about playing with fire.

Somewhat later in life (about 4 years later, I’d say), I lit the neighbor’s dry, grassy field on fire. Boy did I get it for that one! But not good enough, apparently, because I did it again!

I don’t know what made me such a pyromaniac as a kid, but the firebug is gone. It’s really scary, thinking back and realizing how close I came to burning down the whole house! (yipe!!)

Voted “Most Popular Small Appliance” on the SDMB 1999
(ok, so I made it up!)
Chrome Toaster

When I was about 8 I wanted to make some small rubber tires for a toy car I had. My mother caught me in the kitchen, starting to boil a (larger) rubber tire from a toy road grader I had, so I could soften the tire and make smaller ones from it. (Naturally, I had to abandon that project.)
About 40 years ago my sister and I, and some friends, playing with sparklers in a large vacant lot, managed to start a small fire! We also managed to put the fire out, almost immediately, or we’d probably still be hearing about it.

This is more creative than destructive, but my son started switching roles with me several months ago. He would tell me that I was him, and he was Mama. One night, we played this game for a few minutes, and then I went back to my newspaper. I put it down when I heard him fiddling with our VCR, which is on the Absolutely Not, Young Man, Get Your Hand Away list. I told him not to touch the VCR, and he replied ‘I am Mama.’

I had to snicker, but I told him that even when he plays being me, he still may not do the things that I do. He replied, louder and more emphatically, ‘I am Mama.’

It did get through in the end, but the following week he was in tears because even though he was Mama, he had to sit in the carseat and couldn’t drive.

At the doctor’s office when quiet young my doctor neede a urine sample. My mom took me in to the washroom and after I went, she went. After returning to the waiting room I queried, quite loudly, “Mom, how come you have fur and I don’t?”

fast forward years later - I am baysittind. One of my charges is a three or four year old girl. We are rolling a ball on the carpet between us and having a grand old time when it lighly bounces off and bumps between her legs. She laughs and squeals, “Ha ha, it hit me in the bagina.” I laughed, but in my mind were police coming to my door to arrest me for “hitting this child in the bagina” and trying to explain what really happened. Yikes!

What is up with us Doper’s setting fire to vacant lots? I’ve already mentioned this in another thread, but when I was about five, I set fire to a vacant lot near my house while trying to make a burnt sacrifice. See, I’d just learned the story of Cain and Abel, and I decided that I’d better do a little something to get on God’s good side. So, I got some of my friends together and we caught some minnows from the creek by the lot and put them on a pile of wood & dry leaves and I set them on fire with my mom’s cigarette lighter. The fire quickly got out of control, and probably would have burned down the entire block. Luckily, the owner of the house next door happened to come home just in time and managed to put it out with an old blanket. He was naive enough to trust us to go home and “tell our mothers what we did.” Which I did…eighteen years later.

When I was six I decided to make supper before mom got home. I had one of the side dishes started when she came in the door and I made my cheery announcement. Her smile lasted until she rounded the corner into the kitchen to see that I had an iron skillet (I preferred cast iron cookware even then) full of french fries nicely bubbling in hot oil. At the time I could not understand why she came completely unglued.

Around that same time period I came in the front door and kicked off the boots I wore to school. left boot flipped a couple of times and bounced on the floor. I must have kicked the right boot a little harder. The whole world turned to slow motion as I watched the boot flip through the air straight toward the big hanging glass light fixture in the dining room. Flip, flip, flip BOOM! cshhhh! It was better than the homerun scene in The Natural.

My older brother and I used to get in all kinds of trouble. We were both hyper-active when we were little and he would teach me all kinds of tricks. One caught us behind the lazy boy… my brother was teaching me how to stick metal objects in the outlet. That’s one example of the mischief we used to get into. :slight_smile:

The best things in life are Italian…that’s the thing, though…I’m not Italian.

My son has this new thing, where when he gets in trouble in a public place he says, as loudly as possible:

I’m sorry Mama, please don’t hurt me. I won’t do it ever, ever again, please don’t hurt me!

Gets me some dirty looks, I tell ya. And this, from a child who has had like two spankings his entire life! I had to stop spanking him when he was three years old and was smart enough to give me a logical explanation of why spanking is hypocritical. I should have never taught that boy how to reason!

Boy, seems that everybody and their child has done some pretty dangerous/freaky stuff…
I’d make some snide sort of comment here…but I’m really no better(stuck finger in electric socket, rewired plug(stripped and crossed the two wires, then put it back together)and plugged it in(FWOOM), managed to topple an eight foot walnut cabinet on myself, ate a mouse, spent several afternoons mixing every single possible toxic chemical in the house in an attempt to create a “super-poison”, played “fire-works chicken” with friends(hold fire cracker in hand, light fuse, be last person to throw it away) and so on. (funny thing was i never really hurt myself doing any of this)(well ok the electric socket one stung a bit, but no permanent damage. kids are pretty resilient.

Eww, you ate a mouse?

Does the noise in my head bother you?

Here’s a few for ya:

License Plates
My dad used to build model cars for a hobby, and he would proudly show off the finished models on a shelf in our living room. I was looking at them one day, and realized that they were all missing something very important: license plates! I went and got my construction paper and painstakingly crafted a set of the best tags a five-year-old could make. I then stuck them on to the bumpers with good-sized globs of model glue. I proudly showed off my handiwork to my dad when he got home, and boy was I surprised when he hit the roof.

The Writing on the Wall
Around the same time, I was mad at my younger sister for some reason or other, so I decided I was going to get her in big trouble. I got a black crayon and began writing her name on the living room wallpaper in foot-high letters. Unfortunately, my mom came in and caught me just as I was putting on the finishing touches. We never could get the crayon off the wallpaper, and ended up just putting the couch in front of it.

Running Away
I once wanted to run away from home. I forget exactly why now, but I believe it had something to do with my mom not letting me go see the WWF down at the Centrum (hey, Hulk Hogan was my idol at the time!). I had a place to go all picked out – a place in the woods near my friend Mike’s house where we used to go exploring, and had swiped some provisions from the kitchen cabinets – a bottle of soda and a couple of boxes of crackers. I was all set to make it on my own.

That night, I was lying on the bed in my room, dressed in warm clothing and my winter coat–it was a cold night in February-- and waiting for everyone to go to bed so I could sneak out. I lay there thinking about what my new life was going to be like, and feeling more than a little scared. I could hear ‘Perfect Strangers’ playing on the living room TV, and Balki was doing something crazy and the laugh track was going, and I thought about how cold it was outside and how warm it was here, and I thought about Balki and the laugh track and my GI Joes and my Transformers and my mom and my dad and my sister, and then I realized that I didn’t really want to run away after all.


‘Looking back, it’s a wonder I survived childhood.’

Ah…how I wish I could remember… My mother tells the stories beautifully though.

Evidently, when I was but a wee lad (If you saw me know, you’d never know I was ever little…ask Strainger) my mother took me shopping with her one fine afternoon. At the time, she was fairly active on her company’s soft ball team (My hometown is the softball hotbed of the Midwest). She needed a bat. As she was measuring her bat against the length of her arm, as the story goes, I started screaming “Don’t hit me mommy, don’t hit me!!”

She also likes to embarass me with the story of how I tugged on a man’s coat in a drug store one evening just to tell him that my mommy was on her peroid.

“If we submit everything to reason, our religion will have no mysterious or supernatural element. If we offend the principles of reason, our religion will be absurd and ridiculous.” Blaise Pascal

Once my siblings and I gathered either for Christmas. While we were chatting, we let the niblings play in my nieces’ room.

At one lull in the conversation, we realized that it was too quiet in the kids’ room. My sister went to look. We heard her start scolding one of my nieces. I went down the hall to see the problem.

My sister was looking not in the kids’ room, but her and her husband’s. Her youngest daughter and my other sister’s son were on her waterbed. They had found a jar of petroleum jelly on the night table, opened it, and started smearing the stuff all over the headboard mirror. The look on their faces was priceless, just pure innocence, like they weren’t doing anything wrong.

The next Thanksgiving, us siblings were chatting at the table during the meal, ignoring the kids. The same niece, sitting at a high chair, was busy eating, or so we thought. I looked over at her, and she had mashed potatoes smeared completely over her face, scalp, and chest. Hilarious!

What would Brian Boitano do / If he was here right now /
He’d make a plan and he’d follow through / That’s what Brian Boitano would do.

<small>This is according to my sister, as I was too small to remember</small>

My sister, six years older than me, and I shared a bedroom. We had bunk beds; she used the top and I the bottom.

One day when I was about 2, she was sitting on her bunk reading with her feet dangling off. I came toddling in, walked up to her foot, grabbed it, then took a bit bite of her toe. She screamed, and I just toddled back out.

What would Brian Boitano do / If he was here right now /
He’d make a plan and he’d follow through / That’s what Brian Boitano would do.