The Best Excuses

Two weeks ago we babysat three adorable wee girlies while their parents went on a (much needed) overnight vacation. Wee girly #2, a four year old, made this fab excuse, as she and I together surveyed her lap full of spaghetti: "Oh! I'm not a messy eater. I just got bad spaghetti."

I was reminded of it yesterday, when Son knocked over something on the kitchen counter, and blurted: "Wow. My elbow just got a growth spurt. No really!"

I Won't Tell!

Son has liked a girl since kindergarten. Same one he insisted he had to buy Valentine's candy for because it's common knowledge that she likes him.

Son requested that we invite this girl, a fellow second grader, over for a play date. I was a little leery, but only because when he was in first grade I foiled a plot to invite two classmates over so Son could set conditions whereby they could kiss. But he assured me he had no ulterior motives, and Girl arrived.

Moms compared notes, and Girl has written that she hearts Son in her books, for going on three years now. We think it's cute, but have both reminded them that they are too young to marry.

Son was extremely solicitous throughout Girl's visit. He ran to fetch cushions because she "looked tired." He ran to fetch her a drink (milk or water? glass or plastic cup?) because, presumably, she looked thirsty too!

Play date was a smashing success. A day or two after, he asked if his sister could invite Girl to attend his own future birthday party (months away), presumably so his Guy friends wouldn't know he wanted her there.

So yesterday, driving home from school with a Guy friend of his in the car, I overhear this conversation from the back. Such lies!
Son: my sister had Girl over to play the other day. They got along really well.
Son's friend: Yikes.
Son: yeah, I know. I just stayed out of their way.
Son's friend: Yeah.
Son: It was surprising. They managed not to kill me.

I looked up in the rear vision mirror and met Son's eyes imploring me not to say anything to contradict him. And of course I wouldn't!

Surprise Ending!

Me: How was your visit to Grandma's this afternoon?
Daughter. Fine. Until she yelled at me. Then, she pushed me down, and called me an Idiot.
Me: ?????
Daughter. Wait... Some of that is a story.

Daughter, Interrupted

So, in my defence, she did not do it all at once, or I'm sure I would have noticed sooner.
Step 1: daughter brings innocent looking dust bunny hair tangle, and says she has no idea how it got in her room, but can she stick it to something? I dutifully got paper and tape. She made a nice illustration, and then taped hair tangle to it.
Step 2: Only realized in hindsight. Daughter sidles up to me in kitchen, and smiles. I give her a hug. She grins and I think: she looks like she's getting away with something...
Step 3-6: Daughter pops in and out as I'm reading in bed (hey, it's a holiday weekend). I guess I don't look up much.
Step 7: I make eye contact and something is... radically different. I sit bolt upright and ask if she has cut her hair. She makes eye contact and says absolutely not.
Step 8: I examine her head. She is missing most of the hair on both sides of her face, round to the ears, and her bangs are non-existent. There is a tuft or two on top of her head, as well. The rest remains long which, by the way, is how she says she wanted it. Despite all evidence to the contrary, and several opportunities to come clean, daughter remains adamant: she did not cut her hair.
Step 9: I grab the phone and force the woman who answers to let us come straight in, even though the salon has already closed. (I know I was just reading in bed. It is a holiday weekend. By the way: No Talking, by Andrew Clements, is a neat book.)
Step 10: Daughter, now sullen and non-communicative, is dragged to the salon. Woman who answers the phone actually cannot cut hair, as we discovered in hindsight. She is the receptionist. She does try, but now we have to go somewhere else today to finish the job.
Step 11-13: Punishments. Daughter loses pocket money to pay for hair cut. The lying is highlighted as the part we disagree with the most. She is upset at loss of playdate with best friend. She is suitably devastated, in fact. I feel many pangs. She slowly recovers.
Step 14: Daughter lies about something unrelated, an hour later. I realize we have a repeat offender.
Step 15: We swing by different hair salon yesterday, since they are open and ours is not. They make her an appointment for today. Daughter is defiant, until son points out the tufts on top of her head. She slumps in a chair, smooths her dress with her bicycle gloves, and says: "I look crazy." I think we're making some progress. I struggle mightily with trying to communicate less about the hair, more about the lying. (And how did she think a trash bin full of her own hair would back her up?!)
Step 16: Daughter claims: I wanted to look like you. Which is either heart breaking or the best lie yet. Or maybe I look like a crazy person too?