Pants on Fire. And imaginary Plumbers
My eldest has taken up lying. Which would not make me so enraged except that he keeps trying to frame me.
Example 1.
M: Daddy my name is Matei and your name is Asshole.
Z: what?
M: Asshoooooole.
Z: who told you that?
M: Mummy. While we were out walking.*
Example 2.
M: Mummy hit me on the head yesterday when she was telling me to go to sleep.***
I look forward to the calls from his Nursery/Social Services if this keeps up, but in the meantime I have been reading him The Boy Who Cried Wolf repeatedly and pointededly indeed.
On the other hand, in the interest of fairness, here is a story of a time in which I successfully lied to my son.
Back in the winter of 09, I was newly pregnant with Helena and felt run over most of the time on account of the combined effects of Seasonal Affective Disorder and first trimester woes. The days without childcare were a real struggle to remain sane and awake, since my dire state was totally incompatible with the needs and demands of my toddler. By the time I'd finish lunch and tidying up the house, half of M's daily nap would be gone and I'd sneak in and curl up next to him for half an hour and no sooner would the lovely deep sleep come upon me then it would be shattered by the prodding of small hands and a small voice asking for biscuits and juice and entertainment.
So one day I decided to close the safety gate which bisected our house, separating the bedrooms from the hazard strewn areas of living room/bathroom/kitchen, curled up for a nap and prepared to ignore any vocalisations from my child for the next hour.
Predictably enough, not long after M woke up and began his usual round of drinks orders.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I cannot make you tea because there is no water. Our water isn't working and a plumber has come here to fix it."
"Open the gate Mummy, I want to see the plumber to help him."
"No, son, we cannot disturb him. So you must be patient and quiet and play by yourself for a while."
"Okay mummy."
Then LIKE MAGIC for the next hour and a half he played solo, with only the occasional peer over the gate to coo "Hello, Mr. Plumber! Hello!" and I slept deeply and wonderfully and woke up feeling significantly more able to tackle the business of living.
The plumber made multiple appearances over the following weeks. I continued to rest and M continued to play quietly and be delighted that our house was hosting a plumber and the whole thing rolled on without a hitch, that is at least until the day that M excitedly gushed to Z about "the plumber came to our house again and mummy had to go lie down in the bedroom and I had to play by myself and be good and quiet and not disturb anyone."
*Ha! The errors of an amateur in this transparent double lie, because I don't use that kind of language about Z** and I certainly don't take my children out for fresh air and exercise.
**Definately not in English.
*** I did no such thing, though I certainly fantasised about it after the first 45 minutes of thrashing around and whinging about Whyyyyyyyy is it bedtime and whyyyyyyyy can't he eat apples and watch cartoons instead.
Example 1.
M: Daddy my name is Matei and your name is Asshole.
Z: what?
M: Asshoooooole.
Z: who told you that?
M: Mummy. While we were out walking.*
Example 2.
M: Mummy hit me on the head yesterday when she was telling me to go to sleep.***
I look forward to the calls from his Nursery/Social Services if this keeps up, but in the meantime I have been reading him The Boy Who Cried Wolf repeatedly and pointededly indeed.
On the other hand, in the interest of fairness, here is a story of a time in which I successfully lied to my son.
Back in the winter of 09, I was newly pregnant with Helena and felt run over most of the time on account of the combined effects of Seasonal Affective Disorder and first trimester woes. The days without childcare were a real struggle to remain sane and awake, since my dire state was totally incompatible with the needs and demands of my toddler. By the time I'd finish lunch and tidying up the house, half of M's daily nap would be gone and I'd sneak in and curl up next to him for half an hour and no sooner would the lovely deep sleep come upon me then it would be shattered by the prodding of small hands and a small voice asking for biscuits and juice and entertainment.
So one day I decided to close the safety gate which bisected our house, separating the bedrooms from the hazard strewn areas of living room/bathroom/kitchen, curled up for a nap and prepared to ignore any vocalisations from my child for the next hour.
Predictably enough, not long after M woke up and began his usual round of drinks orders.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I cannot make you tea because there is no water. Our water isn't working and a plumber has come here to fix it."
"Open the gate Mummy, I want to see the plumber to help him."
"No, son, we cannot disturb him. So you must be patient and quiet and play by yourself for a while."
"Okay mummy."
Then LIKE MAGIC for the next hour and a half he played solo, with only the occasional peer over the gate to coo "Hello, Mr. Plumber! Hello!" and I slept deeply and wonderfully and woke up feeling significantly more able to tackle the business of living.
The plumber made multiple appearances over the following weeks. I continued to rest and M continued to play quietly and be delighted that our house was hosting a plumber and the whole thing rolled on without a hitch, that is at least until the day that M excitedly gushed to Z about "the plumber came to our house again and mummy had to go lie down in the bedroom and I had to play by myself and be good and quiet and not disturb anyone."
*Ha! The errors of an amateur in this transparent double lie, because I don't use that kind of language about Z** and I certainly don't take my children out for fresh air and exercise.
**Definately not in English.
*** I did no such thing, though I certainly fantasised about it after the first 45 minutes of thrashing around and whinging about Whyyyyyyyy is it bedtime and whyyyyyyyy can't he eat apples and watch cartoons instead.