Lies, Lies, Lies…Yeah

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

The other morning I caught myself telling Kate not one, but two out-right, bald-faced lies before we even ate breakfast. The first lie was related to my hopes that she will soon give up her beloved nighttime binky. As we snuggled under the sheets that morning I suggested she consider participating in Santa’s Binky Exchange Program. I told her that she could mail all her binkies to Santa at the North Pole. He delivers the used binkies to needy infants all around the world. In exchange, he would bring her a new toy and it’s not even Christmas! How cool is that?! This tall tale sprung from an idea my friend, Kelly, gave me after telling her account of the same type of bargaining with her daughter. They tied all the beloved binks to the end of a string to which the other end were strung several helium-filled balloons. The balloons took the binks up and up and away to heaven or something like that. I don’t recall the details of Kelly’s lie, er…concocted story, but I now know that the balloon to binky ratio is not even close to 1-to-1.

My Kate, however, wasn’t buying the exchange program story. She could really care less about a new toy from Santa in April or poor children around the world in need of binkies. Three year olds aren’t exactly known for their altruistic behaviors or mercenary tendencies, for that matter. The ploy failed - not shocking. But what shocked me was my ability to sling Santa’s name around like he actually existed and his exchange program was a real philanthropic endeavor. I’m not in the habit of lying, but maybe I’m pretty good at it.

Or not. We shuffled downstairs to browse the contents of my forever sparse fridge to find something for breakfast. She spotted the beautifully-colored Easter eggs we had dyed the night before and insisted on eating one. I had planned to hide these eggs in just a few more days for her first Easter egg hunt in the new house. There were only a dozen. I can’t let her eat any before Easter. I had to act fast. Then I heard myself telling my second lie of the morning. Well, you see Kate, we can’t eat these colored eggs because these are for the Easter Bunny. He knows that on Easter morning he should look in our fridge to find the colored eggs. He hides these colored eggs out of our fridge around the yard so that when you wake up Easter morning you can search for them…you know…before you can eat them…and then…. The words just kept spilling out of my mouth, faster, and faster. Could I sound more ridiculous? What did my parents tell us when we were growing up? How did they explain the illogical transition from dying the Easter eggs to an Easter bunny showing up at the house only to hide the very same eggs we just dyed days before? I waited for her trademarked furrowed eyebrow look of skepticism. Instead she just nodded and decided on cereal and milk. It worked! But how? (*Note: It turns out the dyed Easter eggs were for eating any old time. Apparently, the Kansas City Easter Bunny bring chocolate and candy. Good to know.)

I’ve come to realize that feeding into her over-exuberant imagination can sometimes be more persuasive than logic. For example, when the ice cream truck drives down our street with its incessant refrain of Do Your Ears Hang Low, Kate runs in the opposite direction yelling “It’s the music van! It’s the music van! Run away, run away!” I only told her it was a truck that drives around playing silly music. She was the one who added the element of suspense and scariness to it. Saves me $5 and some empty calories, so who am I to tell her differently.

But there must be a point when lying (can I call it fibbing?) is not the best way to get Kate to do what I want. It’s like pornography, I know it when I see it. I know when the time is right to teach her that disappointment is a part of life and sometimes the answer is a resounding “No” no matter how hard she whines, coerces, cries and falls into a heap on the floor. For the other times, I’m sticking with my fibs. Like tonight. Kate was concerned about the foxes in her bedroom. “They have big teeth and they BITE!” I think to myself that maybe it’s time to stop playing “Sounds of the wild” on CD while putting her to bed. Crickets and frogs singing is one thing. But the howls of wolves in the night? That might have something to do with these fears of a dog-like menace in her bedroom. I gave her a little hug, smoothed down her dandelion hair and with a smile said, “Wear your socks to bed, Kate. Foxes can’t bite through socks.”