Liar, Liar

I’ve encountered another stumbling block in this journey that is parenthood -- an over-abundance of lies. Not from my children, but from myself.

I am discovering that the job of being a mother requires more lying than I realized. And I often find myself facing a moral dilemma: How can I preach to my children the virtue of truth and the sin of lying and then turn right around and answer “yes” to the question, “Mom, is Santa Claus for real?”

I know you probably think I am being overly-dramatic about this. Telling your child that Santa Claus is real is hardly the same as denying that the milkman or the mailman is their real father, right? (I’m kidding! We don’t even have a milkman.) But, while I will agree that there are varying stages of lying that we can intellectualize as adults, to a child, a lie is a lie. And if I tell them not to lie, what am I teaching them by lying myself?

The reason I am having such an issue with this right now is because of the whole Tooth Fairy mess. L just recently lost her first tooth. There was much rejoicing and celebration over this major step toward “growing up.” That night, as she was placing her tooth under her pillow she asked the obvious questions: How does the Tooth Fairy know her tooth is there? What will the Tooth Fairy do with the tooth? How does she get into our house? And every single answer I gave her was a lie.

About a month later, the second tooth came out. Again, with the rejoicing and again with the placing of the tooth.

Insanely early the next morning, I awoke to a sobbing, little girl who tearfully exclaimed, “Mommy! The Tooth Fairy didn’t come!”

Inside my head I screamed, “Holy S**t! I forgot!!!!”

You cannot imagine how badly I felt at that moment. And I had only myself to blame. I was the one who had put the idea of this magical tooth-snatching, money-granting chick inside her head in the first place. And now I was trapped in that lie.

So what did JAO and I do? We lied to her like we’ve never lied before.

“See, honey, you were running a fever yesterday and I bet the Tooth Fairy was afraid she would pick up some of your germs and pass them on to some other kid.”

“You know, it is still really early in the morning. Maybe you got up too soon and she didn’t have time to sneak into your room.”

“I bet if you put your tooth back under your pillow, she will come sometime during the day.”

With a few more sniffles, L accepted our lies and went back to her room. Later, I was able to sneak in and put the money under her pillow, along with a note from the Tooth Fairy explaining -- no lying -- about why she was late.

Argh.

Again, you may think I am making too big a deal over this. I mean, the only alternative is to explain the cold, hard facts to a wide-eyed, innocent 5-year-old and shatter every illusion she has about the magical world of fun and fairies that she believes in. Maybe that’s just as cruel as the lie.

For instance, this past summer, L told me that when she grew up, she wanted to be a mermaid. When it became clear to me that she was very serious about her goal, I felt I should gently inform her that she could not be a mermaid when she grew up. You should have seen the look on her face when I told her that. I meant it from a purely scientific standpoint. I told her there was physically no way her body could grow a fin and her lungs adjust to life under water. She was quite upset by this -- as if I were denying her, for some unknown and cruel reason, her lifelong dream.

Finally, my mother interrupted and said, “Just tell her that she can be a mermaid!”

So I said, “Fine. Then when she graduates high school and enters college and discovers that nowhere in the curriculum will she find ‘Mermaid 101’ then you can explain it to her!”

See, my mother’s old mommy instincts kicked-in and she was willing to say anything to her granddaughter to get her to smile again. And that included lying about becoming a mermaid.

After a few beats, L straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin and said, “Fine. I’ll be a fairy then.”

What was my response? I lied. I told her she would be the best fairy in the whole world.

And she smiled.

Sigh.

I am now an adult and seem to have suffered no ill effects of the lies my parents told me. I now know that they lied to me about a lot of things and I see no reason to drag them in front of Jerry Springer and deride them of their faults. So, maybe I am making too big a deal out of this. Maybe the lies, when told with only good intentions aren’t so bad after all.

Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go shopping. The Easter Bunny will be coming soon, you know.

As long as he doesn’t go to bed early and forget...