So. If you ask my three-and-a-half year old what Daddy hates the most, he'll say "liars." Yep, my husband is brutally honest. He considers it a service he does for others by not holding back, I call it a mild form of Aspergers Syndrome. He would rather avoid a question he doesn't want to answer than answer it with an untruth - no matter how much it might hurt. It's gotten to the point where any time I ask him a question I have to ask myself "Can I handle the truth?"
I, on the other hand, am perpetually running around with my pants on fire. Not in a devious way, but in a "I'd rather tell a great big fib than hurt someone's feelings or cause any kind of drama" way. That does not mean that you shouldn't believe me when I tell you you look like you lost weight - I don't go out of my way to spout fabrications - but don't ask me if it looks like you put on a few pounds and expect me to actually agree with you.
Since becoming a mother, I've found that lying also helps to diffuse difficult parenting situations. While I don't advocate constant deceit, a certain amount of deception is needed to survive the day-to-day. You can act shocked that I shelter my precious offspring from the realities of the real world and deny them the gut strength that comes from swallowing bitter pills of truth, but here's the thing - we all do it. We being mothers. It being lie.
Here is a list of my top ten parenting lies and the truth behind them:
1. Target is closed.
OK, sure, during some hours of the day this one is actually true. However it so happens that just about every time I say it it's during actual store hours. The thing is, I love Target as much as the next stay-at-home mom. I love the dollar section where I can get silly putty which my kids will spend fifteen seconds playing with and which I will spend forty-five minutes pulling out of the carpet. I love the housewares section where I can consider buying new throw pillows for the couch before reminding myself that I will spend more time picking them up off the floor than I will actually relaxing on them. I love that I can get a Dominos Pizza and a Starbucks frappucino while I'm there if I want to. I never do, but it's nice to know the option is there.
The problem is, my kids love Target just as much as I do. Only for different reasons. They love the fact that the shopping cart is basically a gymnastics apparatus on wheels - something they can hurdle, mount and dismount while we cruise down the aisles at what I like to call "if I go fast enough they won't ask me for it" speed. They love that everywhere they turn there's a product with one of their twelve favorite characters on it "Ninjago pajamas! Cars fruit snacks! Star Wars Vitamins!" But most of all they love the toy department where they know that all they have to do is threaten a temper tantrum - the kind that is so raucous that it will guarantee that security will show up to make sure you're not actually trying to kidnap your own child - and I will let them pick out the toy of their choice as long as it is under $10. Because, really, you can't put a price on mommy's sanity.
And that, my friends, is how we've ended up with every car from the Cars collection, five Star Wars storm troopers, and enough play doh to sustain a third-world family. Because that stuff is totally edible.
Which is why I have had to put an end to our weekly (OK, daily) Target excursions. But addictions are hard to break (amirite Robert Downey Jr?), and so at least once a day someone asks me if we can go to Target. I could just say no, but instead "Target is closed" has become my motto. Sometimes Target is closed for Shabbat (although sometimes that one backfires and I end up spending the afternoon braiding Challah). Sometimes it's closed for Lent (thank you, Catholics, for having a six week long holiday!). Sometimes it's closed because it's Wednesday. It doesn't matter the reason, Target isn't somewhere we drive by regularly, so until my kids learn to dial information (does anyone dial information anymore?) I'm safe.
2. I'm just going potty
I'm never just going potty. But the potty excuse is so, so useful. I discovered it when Kid #1 was two years old and starting preschool. He had horrible separation anxiety and would cry and hang on my leg as I tried to make my way out the door with all the other moms who were breezily saying their good-byes and heading for the parking lot.
I couldn't take it. Starbucks was calling my name. Finally I said "I'm just going potty!" and miraculously he stopped crying, looked up at me, and said "Oh. OK."
Maybe it was because at the time I was pregnant and spending a lot of the time in the bathroom anyway so spending two and a half hours there wasn't really cause for his concern. Maybe it was because we were in the midst of potty training and he knew what a Big Deal going to the bathroom was. Maybe he's just not that bright. Whatever the reason, he totally bought it and it worked for like three months.
Ever since then "Just going potty!" has been my go-to when I need to escape, buy some time, or just be alone for, well, the thirty seconds it takes for them to realize that I'm actually alone and they bust in on me.
I use it when I am sneaking out of Kid #2's room at night after three stories, a glass of water and five minutes of watching his eyes grow heavy and start to close. I carefully slide my way off the bed and out the door and then (how does he know I'm leaving I was being so stealth) he lifts his head off the pillow and mumbles "Cuddle me." "I'm just going potty!" I say, and he nods and closes his eyes.
I use it when I have all the kids strapped in the car and run inside the house to collect my wallet, my brain, and my self-respect after screaming at everyone to get in their seats and put their seat belts on before we are later than we already are.
I use it when I'm actually in the bathroom and I just want to answer an email, look at the Pottery Barn catalog that came in the mail or stare at my pores without anyone climbing on top of me asking me to scratch their back or find their teddy for them. I'm not sure the last time I actually peed alone, but I definitely have logged some time just meditating on the beauty that is "I'm just going potty."
3. There IS a Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy is REAL
You might think that Santa is a funny thing for me to lie about - after all, we are a Jewish family. Why would I perpetuate the myth of a jolly fat man who only brings presents to Christian girls and boys? Why would I play into the commercialism and consumerism that is the Christmas season?
I'll tell you why.
Kid #1 is in love with a shiksa. OK, I know they're six and part of his infatuation with her is that she has an older brother who's really into Star Wars, but still, it's his first 'crush' and she also happens to be a pastor's daughter. And I'll be damned if he messes this up by telling her that there's no Santa Claus.
Also, Kid #2 looks up to Kid #1 and Kid #2 finds out there's not a Santa Claus he's going to announce it to the world as gospel. And true, he goes to a Jewish preschool now, but I don't need him getting off on the wrong foot in Kindergarten by being That Kid who told the class there's no such thing as Santa Claus. He's gonna have enough to deal with being a middle child.
As for the tooth fairy -why should I give up such a perfect scapegoat? No money under your pillow? Lazy tooth fairy. Only got a nickel when you think that molar deserved a dollar? Cheap tooth fairy. Think it's unfair that your little brother got the same amount of money for brushing his teeth that you got for losing yours? Commie tooth fairy.
4. That's Mommy's Medicine
I see you rolling your eyes. You're thinking 'not another post about moms who drink wine and hide it from their kids.' That's not what this is. I'm pretty up front about my alcohol consumption with my kids. They know that's Mommy's drink and they've tasted it too. Fortunately their refined palettes turn up their noses at my Trader Joe's Two Buck Chuck.
No, when I say Mommy's Medicine I'm talking about anything I don't feel like sharing. Like breath mints, or chewing gum or gummi bears imported from Colorado (OK, those actually have, er, pharmaceutical qualities, so it's not really a lie). It can also be applied to lip gloss (yes, boys like lip gloss if it smells like cotton candy) and expensive perfume. At this point my kids probably think I have a chronic illness or some sort of addiction that can only be cured with spearmint and high-end cosmetics.
I do, it's called children.
5. Eat your vegetables so you grow big and tall.
Haha, kids -- joke's on you. Have you met your parents? There's not a chance in hell you're going to be taller than 5'11 but I have to make you eat your vegetables because....well because I'm a mom and it would be irresponsible not to. One day you'll learn about genetics and find your dad's high school yearbook and it will all come crashing down, but for now, eat that broccoli and keep thinking that it's going to turn you into the jolly green giant.
6. If you don't stop fighting I'm turning this car around.
And go back home where you can continue to beat each other to a pulp and scream at me about who started it? And miss out on the fabulous play date we are on our way to where I will sit with another mom and laugh about all the lies I tell you? Yeah, right. This car is not turning around but if I slow down and start to pull over to the side of the road something magical happens. Silence. For at least thirty seconds.
7. Your brother is your best friend.
Your brother also tried to pee on you this morning. He tells me at least once a day he wanted a sister. Or a dog. Your other brother pulled your hair so you pushed him face first into the sandbox.
This is one of those lies where I think that maybe if I tell it enough times it will become the truth.
8. I don't have a favorite child
Are you kidding? I always have a favorite child. It's the one who actually slept through the night. It's the one that didn't spill an entire bowl of Cheerios on the floor seconds after I served it to him. It's the one who told me this morning that I was the best mom in the history of moms. Flattery goes a long way in this family.
The thing is, my favorite child changes on a daily - excuse me, hourly - basis. No one child has ever held the coveted "favorite" position for longer than an episode of Sesame Street before ruining it by kicking their brother for being there or asking me for a snack the second I finally sat down with that Pottery Barn catalog.
I would be a bad mother if I said that one child was always my favorite. But I would be an unrealistic mother if I loved all my children exactly the same all of the time. I always have a favorite.
9. YOU are my favorite child
The thing is, the child that I am saying this to is almost never the child that actually is my favorite at that moment in time.
It's probably the one with the face full of dried snot and chin dripping with drool who just got left behind in a race by his brother.
It's possibly the one who is feeling neglected because I spent the last forty-five minutes fighting with his brother about why it's necessary to wear pants to the playground.
It's often the one who I just totally lost my temper with and yelled at because he just dunked an entire roll of toilet paper into the toilet and then spread its wet clumpy contents all over the downstairs bathroom.
You see, when I tell my kids that they are my favorite they immediately go from "I'm feeling left out, neglected and victimized" to "Well, at least my mom knows who the real prize is here."
Is there a better way to boost morale and infuse self-esteem? Probably, but I gave away all of the parenting books that might contain that information because who has time to read that stuff? I can barely manage to get through a Pottery Barn catalog.
Do I worry that one day my kids will compare notes and realize that I told all of them at one point or another that they were my favorite? Not at all. What else are they going to talk about in therapy?
10. Daddy and I were just talking
We were not. We were either fighting or sneaking in a quickie while you were watching Phineas and Ferb. Do you think we would shut the door to just talk? We are adults, we know all about discretion.
I mean, give us some credit, we want to give you something to talk about in therapy but we don't want to give you nightmares.
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