As a parent, I strive for honesty with my children and hope to cultivate the same in them. We engage in open discussions about serious topics like death and use proper terminology for body parts. We welcome questions without any shame. However, there are moments when I find it perfectly acceptable to spin a little yarn. By “acceptable,” I mean I wholeheartedly embrace it.
For example, let’s talk about my so-called omniscience. While I’m not actually all-knowing, my kids sure think I am. Just the other morning, I was out and about during breakfast, but somehow I knew my daughter had yogurt and then decided to wear the empty cup as a hat. When I later asked her about it, she looked perplexed for a moment before confessing. I see everything, kids. Every little thing. So don’t even think about hiding the cat in the fridge!
Then there’s the classic, “I don’t know where it is.” In truth, I know exactly where everything is, down to the last Lego piece. I might forget the word “wagon” occasionally, and I definitely need reminders for my own plans, but when it comes to the whereabouts of the toys the kids have outgrown or that noisy gadget tucked away in the basement? I could tell you in an instant. So when they ask for that birthday guitar, I can honestly say, “I have no idea,” even though it’s just chilling in the basement.
Ah, bedtime. We kick off our nightly routine at 7 p.m. Unless, of course, I feel like shifting it to 6:45 or even 6. The timing often hinges on my kids’ energy levels, the number of meltdowns they’ve had, and how much I desperately need a breather. So, bedtime is “7 p.m.” unless it’s not.
The dangers of smoking are real, and I don’t deny that. However, I may have embellished the urgency of those risks a bit. A while back, I encountered a gentleman who’d undergone a laryngectomy, and instead of explaining, I opted to instill a bit of fear: “Did you hear his voice? That’s because he smoked!” This sparked a series of questions that ended with the conclusion that smoking leads to bad smells, odd-colored clothes, and the potential loss of one’s throat. I don’t condone smoking, but I’ve since dialed it back after my son began interrogating strangers about their habits.
Now, let’s discuss the phrase, “There’s no more.” This isn’t technically a lie—there is no more syrup left, but it sure simplifies breakfast without sugar-induced squabbles.
Getting the kids involved in cooking and cleaning can be a challenge. Their attempts often lead to chaos, like tossing items into a box without any thought about finding them later. Watching them mix dry ingredients gives me mild panic—especially when I envision baking soda exploding everywhere. But I remind myself that practice makes perfect, so I always affirm their contributions, saying they were a great help.
And speaking of help, maybe this means they can enjoy an episode of their favorite show as a reward. It has nothing to do with my need for uninterrupted cleaning time, of course.
Sometimes I genuinely need to use the bathroom; other times, I just crave a moment of solitude to check my phone.
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In summary, while I strive for honesty, sometimes a little white lie helps maintain peace and order in our chaotic family life. After all, parenting is as much about survival as it is about teaching.
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