"Who's in the kitchen?" I inquired when I heard a small person jump off the counter.
"What just broke?" I demanded answers as I made my way down the hall.
When I entered the crime scene I found Amaya, standing over a broken plate shattered on the kitchen floor.
"Where is the broom?" My husband snapped at Rio.
"Amaya! That's the third plate you broke this week!" I accused. "At this rate we're not going to have any plates left."
"It slipped mom..." she said, standing petrified over the mess with her arms held out.
"Why are you holding spaghetti?" I pointed to the handful of spaghetti noodles drooping through her clinched fingers.
"I saved what I could..." she defended.
"Next time save the plate!"