It was one of those days. I was low on sleep, chocolate and patience.  I sat on the couch leafing through a Mark Bittman cookbook, hoping to plan a meal that would beat my three day stretch of frozen peas and pasta.

To my right, my two year old son decided to initiate a game of “Monster” and began walking with his arms outstretched in a menacing pose, while roaring in his twin sister’s direction.

To my left, said sister looked on with some hesitation as she tried to assess the risk of personal injury. As the roaring increased in volume and conviction, she became increasingly concerned.

What happened next is a matter of some dispute. The fact that my monster/son then lunged for his sister in a threatening manner is uncontested. And the fact that, en route to his (insert undesirable and monster-like behavior) frenzy, he was abruptly stopped by something, is also uncontested. And the fact that the thing that stopped him in his tracks was my strategically raised leg is also uncontested.

What remains unresolved might merely be a question of semantics.

Here is the conversation that ensued. Names have been withheld to protect whomever might be innocent.

Son: (surprised) “You kicked me!”

Mother: (surprisingly calm) “No, sweetie, you must have accidentally walked into my leg, which happened to be extended.”

Son: (persistent) “Why did you kick me?”

Mother: (firmly) “No, my love. You were lunging towards your sister, and I simply extended my leg to protect her. You must have walked into my leg.”

Son: (equally firmly) “No. I didn’t. You kicked me.”

Mother: (confidently) “technically, kicking is done with the ball of your foot.  You marched into my shin.  The fact that you fell down was mostly due to the force with which you lunged at your sister.

Son: (after a 5 second pause) “No. You kick me.”

You be the judge, dear reader.