Lie:  It’s What’s for Dinner

Lying to our children.  Super original blog topic, right?  Nobody has ever talked about this before.  Facebook wars absolutely, positively have NOT taken place over this little gem.

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I’m not going to even start in on the whole I-Lie-To-My-Kid/You-Should-Never-Lie-To-Your-Kid debate.  I’ll leave that to the Sanctimommies.  Which is pretty much like throwing a dog a bone or giving your kid an Oreo just to shut them up.

Additionally, I’m not even going to start in on the hypocrisy of Sanctimommies who say they NEVER lie to their kids except for Santa Claus/Tooth Fairy/Easter Bunny/When It Is Easier for Me debate either.

Because that’s just boring.

I read online (so it must be true), that the “average parent will tell their child almost 3,000 little white lies as they are growing up – just to get their own way.”

And I thought, “Geez.  That number seems low!!!

Instead, I’m just going to tell you some of the lies that I tell My Imaginary Child (MIC) for whatever reason is most convenient for me at the time.  But no matter where you stand on the matter, the following lies are not exactly punishable by a court of law.  Besides, kids are so dang gullible, it just really is easier:

Images are NOT to scale.


Mommy made dinosaur meat for dinner!
This one is tricky as MIC is old enough to know that dinosaurs no longer exist but doesn’t yet have a full understanding and comprehension of where meat actually comes from.  Plus, he’s a picky eater with constantly changing rules for:  what he will eat, what he won’t eat, what food can/cannot be touching other food, how hot it is, how cold it is, and/or what the planetary alignment is for that particular day (that last one might be made up).  Nevertheless, no four-year old boy is going to turn down the opportunity to eat dinosaur meat.  Period.

Dinosaur Meat


When the ice cream truck is playing music it means they have run out of treats.

No More Ice Cream

This bit, fat, super juicy lie is most certainly not original to me, but because that evil, entrepreneurial genius drives through our neighborhood all the goddamn time, this is a doozy that I have to say.  Alot.


That’s not funny anymore.
Like any good, imaginary, four-year old boy, he has a wicked sense of toilet humor; fart jokes in particular are a household favorite.  However, there are times when he has gotten himself all wound up, it’s past 9:00 p.m., and he won’t put on his pajamas lest the bottoms cover up his fart noises (they don’t).  Additionally, I have to stop my own giggle fit because my laughter is certainly not helping matters.  The fact that I apparently have the same sense of humor as an imaginary four-year old boy only adds to the problem, but telling him “That’s not funny anymore” just sounds so much sweeter than “Please go the fuck to sleep, baby.”  Which I would NEVER say.  Yet.

 

I’ll be there in just a minute!
Yeah.  Sure kid.  Whatever.  I’ll get there when I get there, but since you don’t own a watch and/or have any definitive and accurate concept of time, I’ll either get there in 60 seconds or upon the sound of shattering glass.  Whichever I deem more urgent and/or appropriate at the time.

 

All of the vampires live in Transylvania.
For the love.  Inexplicably, MIC went through a period where he was obsessed with vampires and as God as my witness, I swear he didn’t pick this up from me!  Yes, I own all of the Twilight movies (books too, natch), but the last one was so bad, I haven’t watched any (again for the umpteenth time) in months.  However, his obsession with vampires required me to constantly remind him that:

Vampires Can't Fly on an Airplane

(a) All vampires live in Transylvania (true);

(b) Vampires cannot go out in the sun (true;)

(c) Transylvania is so far away that you HAVE to take an airplane to get there (definitely true); so finally,

(d) Since vampires can’t be in sunlight and you have to take a plane to get from Transylvania AND planes fly during the day, it is therefore logistically impossible for a vampire to make it to our house.

(However, since we live in Memphis, I’m sure the day will come when he asks me why they can just FedEx themselves in a box.  A big box, obviously.)


And finally, the mother (ha ha) of all lies:

Of COURSE I’m listening to you sweetie!
Not.

© Two too smart, smartass mommies 2011