Liar Liar Pants on Fire

A lot seems to change between kindergarten and first grade. In kindergarten, N's social angst was limited to disbelief that some kids didn't believe in fairies. What was wrong with them? How could they not believe in fairies, when everyone knows they're real?

In first grade, fairies were still important, but I noticed that she started to pay attention to other things. Who had longer hair. Who was best friends with whom. Who had a tendency to be a bit bossy.

And who seemed to have an issue telling the truth.

This last one was a biggy. Apparently, first graders are just beginning to understand the concept of one upmanship. Unfortunately, they don't really have the concept of believability down yet. This year, N came home with stories frequently told by her friend T.

"T said she's going to live in a submarine this summer".

Wow. Well that certainly tops our weekend at the beach.

"T said she's going to Japan for the weekend"

Huh. Can you say jet lag?

"T's going to be in movie this summer".

Wait, what about the submarine?

Ok, so they're seven. Kids lie. Eventually, they realize that there's no benefit to doing so, because the very people they are trying to impress know that they're lying their little asses off  realize that they're not telling the truth.

The issue for N was that these people were her friends. Friends don't lie to each other. Why would T say she was going to live on a submarine if she wasn't? I figured it was a teachable moment and told N that T's lying didn't have anything to do with their friendship, and that maybe T was just looking for a little extra attention. We talked about the importance of telling the truth. Then I told her to ignore it and move on.

Because that's what we need to teach our kids.

Of course, we don't just teach them through our words. We teach them through our actions.

And sometimes, our actions need a little explaining.

(Quick survey of facebook friends and other potential blog readers to make sure none of them work at our grocery store...)

A lot of nice people work at our grocery store. So does someone who, while apparently friendly, makes my mommy radar go off. Can't tell you why, because I don't really know why. But when I am with the kids and in this cashier's line, my internal High Alert button goes off. I may be wrong. I don't have any specific reason to feel this way, other than that he makes me uncomfortable. And that's reason enough for me.

So I try not to go through his line, but occasionally I have no choice, and in those cases I try to keep our interactions brief and pleasant, but not exactly familiar. And yet (and maybe this is precisely what makes my mommy radar go off), he attempts to get somewhat familiar. Specifically regarding the kids. So, during one visit, when he asked me where they got their red hair, I said "Oh, it's in the family". And when he said "But does their father have red hair?" I just said "No." And when he asked if I had red hair when I was younger, I resisted the urge to say "Just ring up the damn groceries, please",  and just said "No." So when this person who makes my mommy radar go off asked a fourth question regarding my children, in the form of asking if we were Irish, my instinct was to lie my ass off  not give him any more information about us. So I told him we weren't Irish.

As we walked out, I could feel N staring at me.

"Mom? Are we really German?"

Oh. Well, no. Not exactly.

"Well then why did you tell that man that we were German?"

A conversation followed in which I explained that not everyone has a right to information about us. And if someone is asking more questions than we are comfortable with, or asking things that aren't any of their business, and especially if it's not someone we know, it's ok not to be completely honest.

I think this is a good time to tell you my Aunt the nun's perspective on lying. Lying, according to her and the priest who allegedly shared this perspective with her, is keeping the truth from someone who has a right to know.

I figure if your Aunt the nun tells you it's ok to lie sometimes, then it's ok to lie sometimes.

(Quick survey of my facebook friends and other potential blog readers to make sure none of them go to our community pool. Ok, so there might be one or two that do. Whatever).

We were at our community pool yesterday. I love that the kids have a pool nearby to spend summer days, but with one child who swims, though not perfectly, and two children who are nowhere near swimming, I find that I have to be watching two pools at once. I have to be in the baby pool with B and O, and while there are life guards watching the big pool where N is, the reality is, they may have twenty or more kids to watch. So I make sure I'm watching, too. But if N wants a break from the big pool, or if it's adult swim, she comes to us in the baby pool. Which admittedly makes my life tremendously easier. And where, I found out this week, she is apparently not allowed. Because she's over six.

Often, we are the only ones in the baby pool. Occasionally, like yesterday, there is another mom in the same situation as we are--two small kids and an older child. If it's not bothering those of us who are there that our "older than six" kids are in the baby pool, there's no issue, right?

Well, no. Wrong. Because that would be too simple.

Apparently, other kids who are older than six are not happy that they can't be in the baby pool during adult swim. So, yesterday, one of them--who appeared to be about eight--took it upon himself to interrogate the kids in the baby pool regarding their ages. He came to the fence, pointed at N, looked at me, and said "How old is she?"

I have to admit, my first instinct was to respond with a very mature "None of your business", but reason won out, and I remembered that I was the adult in this situation. My next instinct was to ask where his mother was, and if she knew that he was interrogating people in the baby pool. I decided that wouldn't be the best response either. So, I gave him the next response that came into my head.

"She's six".

N looked at me. The boy eyed me suspiciously, and said "She's not allowed to be there if she's six".

I smiled and said, "Yes, she's allowed. It's six and under".

"I don't think so".

He is staring at me. I can't believe I am arguing with an eight-year-old, and wonder again where his mother is.

We have a stare down, which I am only semi proud to say that I won.

He walked away.

N came over and said, "Why did you just tell him that I'm six?"

"Shhh. You're six. Six-year-olds don't question their mothers".

"I'm NOT six."

"You're six," I said under my breath.

"Why am I six? If you're going to lie, why can't you say I'm ten or something?"

I look around to make sure the baby pool Nazi isn't watching us.

"You're six because six-year-olds are allowed to be in the baby pool. Seven-year-olds aren't. Neither are ten-year-olds. Just be quiet. And be six".

Ok, so maybe it wasn't right to lie. But no one was being hurt, disturbed, or inconvenienced by my seven-year-old being in the baby pool. And besides, she's only been seven for a month.

I'm also pretty sure that my Aunt the nun would say that the boy in question didn't have a right to know the truth.

In fact, she'd also say that children should be seen and not heard.

Something I am beginning to agree with more and more.