Kids lie.
Most parents would agree with that fact. They don’t really learn it from anyone; it just seems to come naturally.
They exaggerate, they hide facts, they make up wild stories and they deny the (blatantly) obvious. Though most of them are really bad at it, they still do it.
I’m trying to teach my three girls the difference between what’s true and what isn’t, but a great deal of the time, they walk around with their proverbial pants on fire.
I remember a few years ago when Josie was probably only two. She swiped Sadie's Snoopy while we were in the car and then dropped him down next to the car-seat where Sadie couldn't get him.
Sadie accused her: "Hey! You took my Snoop, JO-SAY!" Josie grinned, rolled her eyes, and said, "Nope!" "Oh yes you did! You took my Snoop!" "Noooope!"
It was my child’s very first lie, and I witnessed it firsthand! Unfortunately, it was cute. Lies get less and less cute the older a child gets, though, so I’ve collected a few of my favorites before they get too ugly.
Lies of omission:
I heard a big crash from upstairs. Sadie stomped into the kitchen, grabbed a roll of paper towels, and turned to go back upstairs. She said, “Never mind what just happened.”
Quick-change of heart:
Josie, did you clean your room? “Yes, I already did it. Okay, no I didn’t.”
Adelaide, did you eat your carrots yet? “I ate one! One of those. Oh, wait. No, I didn’t eat it yet!”
Adelaide snuck into my bedroom after her dad had already tucked her in for the night. “Does Daddy know you’re in here?” “Yes.” “Do I need to tell him?” “NO!”
And, most common in our family, the lie when one sister accuses the other:
There is neon green Play-doh on the living room rug. I know SOMEBODY did it. I don’t waste my time asking my husband if he did it. I mean, when is the last time I saw him rolling out Play-doh cookies anywhere, much less on the beige living room carpet? The baby isn’t exactly ready for Play-doh yet. No, I’m positive the guilty party is standing in front of me; the only thing I have to do is figure out which one she is. “She did it, Mom.” “It wasn’t me, Mommy! I promise it wasn’t!” “If I did it, I don’t remember it at ALL.”
While planning my next move in response to the little accusatory fingers pointing at each other, something strange happens. Miss Guilty confesses. Why, I do not know. It’s not like I would have ever been able to figure out the truth after all the “she said/she said” stuff.
They don’t do any better with denial:
“Who took my York peppermint patty?” I asked Adelaide, whose face was smeared with chocolate. “I didn’t mess with your mint, Mommy! I didn’t!” she managed to splutter around a mouth full of minty goodness. It was hard not to laugh.
"I don’t think she was trying to hit you with the stick, Sadie." Her sister interrupts, "Oh yes I WAS trying to hit her with the stick! I tried to hit her in the arm but I missed and hit her in the leg instead!”
Sometimes I think we might be making some progress, like when Josie slunk into my bedroom, with her lower lip jutted out and her hands on her hips.
She looked me right in the eye and said, "Mommy. I cannot tell a lie. I snooped and I found two of my birthday presents and I saw them and I know what they are but I had to tell you the truth. You can keep them and give them to me next year if you want to because I will probably forget what they are by then anyway.”
My kids have a lot to learn before they finish law school.
For now, I’m just glad that they don’t quite get it. Lying well is one skill that I hope it takes them a long time to learn (or maybe never learn at all.)
from my 10/2/11 article for www.mentorpatch.com
