Mrs. Anderson was just putting the salad on the table as Blaine came into the kitchen, mass of laundry in hand. She had heard Gabe's "lecture voice" upstairs and wondered what it was about this time. Now it was clear. She gave Blaine a "look" and he nodded sheepishly before heading down to the basement. Shaking her head, she took off her apron and began wiping down the kitchen counter. She could hear the water from the washer running downstairs when Blaine came back up.

He hung against the corner island, not knowing what to do with his hands. He always looked smaller in times like this, she mused. She knew what was coming. The Andersons had always made a point with their sons about apologies being important. She put on her best Mom Face and waited.

Blaine made an effort to look her in the eye. "I should have taken care of the laundry before and I'm sorry."

Mrs. Anderson nodded. "Yes, you should have."

Blaine shifted uncomfortably.

"Are we going to be going through this all over again next week?"

"No, Mom." He scuffed at the floor with his toe. The whole looking her in the eye thing wasn't working out anymore.

Taking pity on her kid, Mrs. Anderson sighed. "Blaine, come here," she said, not unkindly. Blaine was embarrassed and really would have preferred to go hide in his room, but he shuffled over. She put her arms around him in forgiveness, and it made him feel a little better. Then, holding his chin, she said, "I know you don't like to be in trouble with your father but I can't just let these things go all the time, Blaine. You need to be more responsible." Blaine nodded, obedient. "Now," she said sweetly, "is my youngest ready for some dinner?"

Blaine looked at the floor. "Dad said I have to eat upstairs."

Mrs. Anderson raised an eyebrow. "...I see. Well then you'll need a plate." she said, handing one to him. "I had made some oatmeal raisin cookies for you..." she said, pulling out the cookie sheet from the oven and placing it on the island.

Blaine couldn't help a grin. His mom always made those just for him.

"Of course, I don't know if you deserve any..." she teased.

Blaine tilted his head and grinned. Mrs. Anderson made a show of considering.

"Please?" Blaine begged with a smile as he started putting salad onto his plate.

Mrs. Anderson was already putting two cookies on a napkin for him. "You know, I spoil you entirely too much, young man," she said, putting the cookies on the table and giving Blaine's bottom a swat.

"Yes, Mom." Blaine said, wincing slightly, but smiling.

Mrs. Anderson smiled and walked to the kitchen doorway to call up the stairs. "Gabe, dinner's ready!" she called. Blaine's red cardigan was strewn on the bottom of the stairs. Rolling her eyes, she picked it up and began to fold it. She was holding it there when Blaine came by to kiss her cheek.

"Thanks for the cookies Mom." He started up the stairs, plate and napkin-full of cookies in hand, just as his father started descending.

"You dropped this," she said as she laid the cardigan over the banister.

"Oh okay, I'll put it in the next load." Blaine said, trying to rush up the stairs faster at the sight of his dad.

Once the door to Blaine's room closed, Mr. Anderson asked his wife. "He apologize to you?"

"Yes. I'm sorry you have to get in the middle of us over this."

"We need to be strict on the little things or we're going to have a lot bigger problems to deal with."

Mrs. Anderson nodded. It was a familiar theme in the house. Sometimes she felt her husband was too firm, but all in all their children were well-mannered and got good grades. They had a lot to be thankful for. She reached up and kissed her husband softly. "Guess it's just you and me for dinner then. There's chili."

"Great."

Mrs. Anderson absently touched her face as her husband walked away, and frowned. What was that...? She put her fingers to her nose and then looked at the cardigan on the banister. She picked it up, and held it to her face. Looking up at Blaine's closed door, she sighed.

"Where did Blaine sleepover last night again?" she asked, cardigan still in hand as she walked back into the kitchen.

"Uh, Kurt's." Mr. Anderson was sitting down at the table. "Uh- Hummer, Hummel? Something like that. The new kid at Dalton."

"We know anything about this kid?"

Mr. Anderson looked up, confused. "He was the one you met at the Sectionals performance, remember? Brown hair. Seemed nice enough... why?"

Mrs. Anderson dropped the cardigan on the island.

"Because this smells like beer."