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.
