Saturday, June 14, 2014

Life Lessons: Knowing When to Lie

Meike has hit a new milestone and it’s UH-MAZE-ING.  She is now old enough and wise enough to go along with it when I lie to Luke.  All it takes is a knowing look or an “Ix-nay on the uth-tray.” 

Here are some examples:

Context:              Luke refuses to eat- Scenario #1 of 327

I say, over-enthusiastically (which, really, is Meike’s first hint to play along), “Luke, this is the most delicious [whatever we’re eating] in the world.” Meike, who is also not eating the most delicious food in the world, chimes in, “Mmmm. This is so good. Luke, can I eat yours?” Luke is three and despises sharing unless he initiates it, which is never. Game over.

Context:              Luke is being super cranky in the store

I have a love-hate relationship with the bulk section of the grocery store.  I am trying to figure out what type of pecan I want.  There are over a dozen, because this is Texas – Home of the Pecan.  Or the Longhorn or something.  Luke is screaming about gummy bears.  If you know Luke, then you know that I never ever give him sugar unless he is in an enclosed area.  Like a cage.  So I try to ply him with alternatives that I am happy to pretend are healthy.  Luke is not fooled by yogurt-covered carob chews.  Meike grabs some yogurt-covered raisins and says, “Luke, these are magic beans. If you eat them, you will grow big like a giant.”  I stare at her in awe until Luke promptly drops his handful of raisins onto the ground and replies, “No, magic beans will turn me into a plant.”

Context:              Luke will not stay out of the pool for the bizarre 10 minute all-kids-out period

Luke is screaming as I carrying him out of the pool.  He’s doing the whole wet-noodle-sliding-down-my-body thing.  I basically have to sit on him to keep him from running back into the pool.  I explain to Luke that there is a snake in the pool.  There is a lifeguard going around the pool and checking for drowned children or whatever. He is now a pool snake wrangler.   Awesome career change, I know; I’m a bit jealous.  Luke stops moving and watches the guy.  Meike is watching me intently and I’m silently begging sweet baby Jesus for her to keep her mouth shut.  “Mom, there are no..”  I interject immediately, “SNAKES!  Snakes everywhere!  Snakes.  In.  The.  Pool.”  I stare at her with my eyes a little too wide and light dawns.  Meike responds, “Oh.  That’s right.  Snakes.  Snakes are everywhere.  In there.  In the pool.”  I’m fairly certain that Luke will now have a confusing lifelong fear of randomly confronting snakes in pools. 

While I should probably not be touting my child’s exquisite ability to lie, it definitely has it perks.  However, it came at a high cost.  A less-favorable ability has developed in tandem with this one.  I can no longer spell things that I don’t want Meike to know.  I now have to communicate high-clearance information via impromptu games of charades when she is around.  “Let’s give the kids Benadryl and go drink wine” was a particularly difficult statement to convey.

Disclaimer:  Before I get 500 comments about what a terrible mother I am- I have never actually drugged my children with Benadryl.  But I cherish the thought.