thing 13: make amends

this week, i lied to jack.  actually, to be more specific, this week, jack caught me in a lie to him.  come on fellow parents, you have to admit to telling tall tales to your children like when you’ve reached your patience threshold and decide to take advantage of the fact they can’t tell time and announce “oh look, it’s bedtime already” or when you say their friend has plans, so they can’t have a play date when, in reality, you never called that child’s mom because you don’t really like the child.  (i swear i haven’t done this to any friends who may be reading this post - and “yes,” i realize the irony since this story is about lying, but just trust me.)

back to the lie heard round the house . . .  to me, it was a little, white lie, but to jack, it was a major betrayal - with a capital “b.”  who knows, maybe there are not degrees of lies, and a lie is a lie no matter how big or small the liar thinks.  if you can only respond “yes” or “no” if asked if you lied, maybe that’s the answer.  anyway, we had fished jack’s old high chair out of the basement to loan to a friend, and while i had taken it out of the box to make sure i had not put it away with any dried peas lurking between the creases, jack decided to climb up and make himself comfortable.  maybe it was the fact i missed his baby days and was feeling melancholy; maybe it was the sheer funniness of seeing an eight-year old, sitting in only his underpants in a high chair; maybe it was because i am just annoying when it comes to capturing all things related to jack, but i grabbed my camera.  jack, clearly thinking ahead where this type of picture could land, refused.  i managed to convince him with the promise of never showing anyone the picture.  bet you can guess my lie now.  no sooner had he hopped down did i text the picture to the friend i was loaning the high chair.  i re-packed the chair, went to bed, and did not give it a second thought.

the next day at school, jack and his friend came bounding out of the doors as they always do -- full of energy, joy, and busy competing to tell about their days.  my friend got out only a few words (and not even completed words) to jack -- something like “i saw a pic . . .” before i realized where the sentence was heading, and i frantically waved my arms above my head, mouthing “no, no.”  i was too late, and jack was too smart.  all of a sudden, he looked at me, his eyes became wider and wider, and giant tears started to form.  you know the kind, tears that would make a plop sound when they hit any surface.  instead of risk being embarrassed any further, jack quickly scattered away, and i had to jog to catch up with him.  his face was so pathetic, and he just kept saying, “why did you lie to me, mommy.”  i was heartbroken . . . because he was right . . . i did not keep my promise.

i spent the rest of the day and evening trying to make amends.  i sincerely apologized.  i admitted my mistake.  i called my mom and let jack hear me tell her my error.  i even offered to have jack give me a time out.  (i realize that maybe the time out suggestion wasn’t particularly sincere because who wouldn’t want to have some quiet time with a book and a glass of wine, sitting in a corner with no interruptions - especially if you follow the rule of thumb of one minute per year of age.)  nothing seemed to do the trick, and we both felt lousy.

a few days passed, and each having a moment when jack felt the need to point out my lie -- and then even add more.  apparently, to an eight-year old, hearing me tell a story about our incredible garden this year where “we have lettuce growing out of our ears” constitutes a lie and not an exaggeration.  it’s a fine line, i say.  jack seems to have forgiven me, but he has let me know he won’t forget.  i’ve learned that jack may have inherited his father’s stubborn side, but i’ve also learned the importance of not letting your child down.  i’m sure i’ll do it enough by accident throughout the coming years.  there’s no need to do it on purpose.

on to thing 14 . . .