At the breakfast table.
My daughter, wearing bright yellow with pink flowers, two sizes too big rain boots: I got snow boots!
My son: Those aren’t snow boots. those are rain boots!
This devolved into an argument about the true nature of the boots, then evolved to a discussion of where snow comes from.
Daughter: Snow comes out of the grass.
Son: NO! Snow comes from the sky.
Daughter: From the GRASS!
Son: From the garage. Daddy’s garage. It’s not your garage.
Me: Nope. It’s Daddy’s garage.
Son: But Daddy can share.
So there you have it. Snow is all my husband’s fault because it comes out of his garage.