A little white lie never hurt anyone, so they say.
A friend of mine, who has two small children of similar ages (and therefore a similar glazed over expression and mental state) shared with me this list of meals that they make for their family, and, crucially, what they call the meals in order that the toddler will entertain the idea of eating them.
It amused me for several reasons. The first is that I am quite clearly a shit cook (possibly just a shit parent) in comparison; my repertoire is nowhere near as varied. My poor kids probably get slight variations on the same 5 or 6 meals. Or, if they've been awful and I just want to go and drown myself in Sauvignon Blanc quietly in a hole, fish fingers. Trying them on new things, however exciting, seems like a futile waste of energy.
The second reason is that one of the few meals they will happily eat is Egg Cakes' which are essentially omelettes cooked in cupcake cases. Because omelettes are clearly the work of the devil, but something that looks like a cake is A-OK. Score one for toddler logic. I was happy to hear it wasn't just me. So happy in fact that I published it on the internet for the whole world* to see.
It made me think about the other little harmless untruths that spill forth from my untrustworthy lips. I'm not talking huge fibs, ones that will cause the Whingelets embarrassment when they finally discover the truth and which will call into question everything I have ever told them; no broccoli vans or child catchers. Yet. Although I did tell her today that carrots would help her see in the dark yesterday, and in my defence it worked... No, nothing too severe. Merely those little white lies we tell when we try to spare our children from the harsh reality; sometimes, we just don't wanna.
It's broken!
The TV is broken, see? Nothing happens when I press this button, see? Daddy will fix it when he comes home. Alternatively...
The batteries have run out
Yup, run right out of your toy and into something more important, or at least less noisy, obnoxious and repetitive. I might even be bluffing, they might be perfectly fine.
There isn't any left, sorry
This packet of crisps/dairy milk/wine is not good for small people, I'm being a good mother by denying it to you. Or maybe I just don't want to share.
I don't have any money
...So you can't go on that Peppa Pig rocket/scary unsafe-looking vehicle that this garden centre have quite clearly had longer than I've been alive. Wait til we come with Daddy, I bet he'll have some money. He always does...
Daddy/Nanny/Someone you might listen to says you should
Apparently my authority just isn't enough sometimes. Sometimes I even have to stage a telephone call. It is hard work having wilful toddlers.
It's bedtime
Sometimes 7pm can be really, really far away. 6pm is nearer and quite frankly, sometimes the thought of not being able to poo in peace for another hour is quite frankly too grim to contemplate.
What lies do you tell your young children? Or am I a horrible, horrible person? Is my friend setting her toddler up to a very embarrassing future first-date scenario during which he remarks upon his companion's Big Chicken Nuggets?
*My Facebook followers. Not quite the same thing.
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