Last week Ian was helping me get Iliana into the car and I stopped in the parking strip.
"What's this junk on the car?" I asked him, even though I was the only one looking at it. He was still on the porch.
"Somebody put dirt on our car," I told him.
"Jonas?" he asked.
"I doubt it," I answered. "This looks too...on purpose."
And it did. There was a little, almost perfect mound of...stuff...on my car that looked like nothing either of my children would hold still enough to apply.