Hmm. I was a ghastly child. They took me to a behavioral psychologist once (who wrote them a glowing letter about how smart and lovely I was - hah!)
I once came in from the garden with my hands clotted with mud, and washed them in a warm sudsy sink that just happened to be nice and full in the bathroom. Halfway through I realised Mum's newly-finished, large cross-stitch was soaking in it prior to being framed. (In my defense, Mum and I both handled that issue quite well. I 'fessed up, she - after an initial "Go away before I snap your neck" moment - reassured me that it wasn't deliberate; and the cross-stitch survived. I mentioned it a few years later and she'd forgotten the entire incident.)
When I was really small, I used to sit next to my baby sister's carseat, which was filled with foam rubber, and the cover was torn. I used to while away the time by sticking little pieces of foam rubber in my ears. For months. The doctor and Mum were both very puzzled. I ended up with grommets... not sure if it was directly related, but anyway, it caused a bit of havoc.
I ran away from home at the age of seven or so, wearing only a short nightie, carrying a swag made of a crocheted blanket, containing my teddy bear, some powdered juice concentrate packets and a dozen raw eggs. Stopped at the end of the driveway because I wasn't allowed to cross the road. My family hasn't let me forget that one.
I threw a major tantrum in class once, and got kicked out, because the teacher wanted to play a recording of a short story I'd written which ended up on some kids' radio program. I was livid because a) it wasn't a very good story - I wrote it in a time limit, so I aimed for "done", not "good"; and b) I absolutely hated other people seeing my work, and felt it wasn't the teacher's right to expose my story without permission. I still feel vaguely justified about that one... and the teacher is currently in jail for pedophilia, so... there you go... I guess.
I once bit my older sister, and was shocked at how much trouble I got into. After all, I hit her all the time and Mum never got that mad; it seemed very arbitrary. :p I also got in huge trouble once for making her head bleed - I "only" whacked her with a teddy, but it had a little metal ring on the back to wind up so it could play music, and as luck would have it, that's what made contact.
If we were having a fight when someone rang up, it would infuriate me beyond belief how Mum could switch from shouting to saying "Hello?" in a nicey-nice voice. I felt it was the height of hypocrisy... so I'd deliberately scream as loudly as I could in the background, to embarrass her.
As a teenager, I'd sneak out when I was meant to be in bed... to go on Dad's computer and post Lord of the Rings parodies on a LOTR fansite. As teenage rebellion goes one could do worse, but Mum and Dad got really furious about it if they caught me. Dad stayed on dialup for years after everyone else switched, so it cost the earth; and after all, I was meant to be sleeping. Plus, of course, it was THE INTERNET and I would meet axe murderers. Sigh.
Hmm, all this is reminding me just how angsty my childhood was. I think I lived in a permanent state of ill-suppressed rage. Chip on my shoulder the size of a house, and a strong if erratic sense of justice. That, and weird family politics. One sister would give me the death glare and kick me under the table if I ordered the same thing as her in a restaurant, because it was "copying"... that sort of thing.