Sunday, August 8, 2010
I lie to my daughter on a fairly regular basis. They're harmless, but they're still lies that I feel guilty about. Wait... No, I don't. There I go lying again.
I tell her all of the little girls in the world named Emily Jane have to go to bed now. Yes, Mommy and Daddy are going to sleep, too. We visited a Fancy Nancy playhouse earlier this week and she has asked to return every day since. "It's closed," I told her. I fully understand now why my mom once told me Chuck E. Cheese went out of business or the time she fed me a Certs and called it Dramamine when I complained of feeling carsick.
The bakery is all out of cookies today. Only the big kids get to play on that swing. I can't find the Elmo CD. Ever. Mommy is drinking juice. What are those farm animals doing to each other? They're wrestling, Honey. And the crazy man is yelling because he's just so excited!
I do this without even thinking because it's easier, it's developmentally more appropriate than the truth, or because I'm trying to save the shred of sanity I have left after a crazy day. I think of it as good practice for the bigger, better parenting lies. Santa and I can't wait!