Why you can't win an argument with a four year-old

X opens the utility closet, pulls out the Swiffer, and starts squirting Swiffer liquid all over the wood floor in preparation to mop.  It's great that he wants to clean the house, but we would be happier if 1) he wasn't wasting half the liquid and 2) if he hadn't taken matters into his own hands.

J: Honey, who gave you permission to mop?

X: You did.

J: I don't remember that.  Are you sure it was me?

X: (points at me) Mommy.

J: (looks at me) Did you give him permission?

M: Noooo.

J: So if it wasn't me and wasn't Mommy, who was it?

X: Ari.

J: Ari's not a grown-up.

X: (thinking hard) Big Ari!  [the teenager who babysits him]

J: Big Ari's not here.  How did he give you permission if he's not here?

X: (huge smile)  MAGIC!