The Truth Hurts

As my daughter advances in age, so too do her advances in other things: comprehension (I seriously have to watch what I say on the phone), independence (She can do everything BY HERSELF), and deceit.

That's right....my little sweetness is gradually becoming an astute little liar. Now, I realize I am going to set myself up for more than a few comments (especially from family members), but there's a good chance the trickery chip came right from my DNA contribution. Nevertheless, we are aware of it and have been consistently conversing with her about the importance of truth telling.

And it's really working.....sort of.

It seems her interest in the truth is not only passionate, but also completely removed from her own self-awareness.

For example, this morning, while I was scrambling to make beds and get dressed while the two hooligans played quietly in her room, I heard Olivia's little feet pitter pat to my attention with the following news:

"Mommy, Mommy, I have to tell the truth."

"Okay," I respond, bracing myself for any host of revelations, "What is it?"

"Joseph's in the sink!"

And he was. Having moved her stool to the bathroom sink, my little guy managed to pull himself up on the vanity and hang out in the sink while brushing his teeth with the Joseph-forbidden, flouride infused Diego toothpaste.

I was glad she alerted me....he's very sneaky. But still, the truth telling really amounts to the confessions on behalf of others, not herself.

I've learned about all the terrible things her classmates do all because, as she says in all her grand martyrdom, "Mommy, I have to tell the truth... guess what Lucas did?"

My usual reaction to this is, "And what about you? Anything you want to tell me?"

"I dunno know," she replies with a shoulder shrug, before darting off to check on her brother.

There is no way she'll ever be left home alone as a teenager.