Julie Jay: Why be honest with your kids when you could be happy?
Before kids, I promised myself I would only ever be honest with my imaginary progeny. More than once, I swore that if I was ever lucky enough to become a mammy, I would always tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me Britney, goddess of pop. But my principles went out the window long ago because why be honest with your kids when you could be happy?
Getting into car seats has taken up so much time in the past that I now expedite the process by telling my toddler Ted that if he doesn’t let me put his belt on, the guards will put Mammy in jail. I have also been known to throw this line out on the odd day he claims he doesn’t want to go to school, but sadly my son has computed this white lie in a way I did not intend.
“My mammy doesn’t like the guards,” he informed an unassuming petrol station assistant, who looked at me as if I was a drug kingpin and this hapless parent act was just a ruse to throw the feds off the scent.
Lies? We’ve all told a few or a hundred, depending on how honest we are. My favourites include: 'Chocolate is spicy', 'The man in Dublin turns the television off at 8pm sharp', and 'Sorry but you’re actually allergic to Coca-Cola'.
If you've ever wondered why so many parents seem to have a black belt in the fine art of fabrication, let me enlighten you on the delightful dance of deceit we perform daily with our tiny tyrants.
Let's start with the classic summer fib: 'No, darling, the ice cream truck only plays music when it's out of ice cream'. Ah, the ice cream truck, that melodic pied piper of frozen delights. Most parents have experienced the heart-stopping moment when that distant jingle echoes through the housing estate.
In my case, panic sets in as I imagine my toddler's sugar-fueled meltdown in front of the neighbours who never seem to have the wrong bin out on collection day and always show me up with their perfect 'trick or treat' bags at Halloween. I've decided that in the inevitable event of this situation happening again, the only solution in the face of an oncoming ice-cream truck will be to move house immediately, bundling my most important effects into the backseat of the car before my little one spies that the ice-cream truck in question also does Mr Slushies.
It’s a price worth paying when the only other alternative is to tell him the truth: if I give him ice cream, the guards are most definitely going to put Mammy in jail.
Last week, I purchased a packet of four miniature mince pies, of which Ted consumed two. When I put him down for a nap, I tried not to eat the remaining two mince pies, but they beckoned me like a foghorn. 'Eat me, Julie,' they called. 'Please put us out of our mincey misery.'
And so it was that I polished off the pies just as Ted suddenly appeared at the door demanding his third sweet treat. His tiny brow furrowed when I explained that Mammy had eaten one and they were all gone.
“If Mammy ate one that means there’s one more,” he replied, using his tiny fingers to illustrate the point.
Caught between a rock and a mince pie, I had to confess the truth. “OK, Mammy actually ate two, not one, and that’s why none are left.”
Ted’s face dropped. “Why did you say one if you ate two?” he quizzed with such disgust it was as if I had just informed him I had been making snacks for other toddlers on the side.
While I nodded sheepishly, Ted reprimanded me for fibbing by taking back his collection of monster trucks, which he had gifted me earlier in the day, and I vowed never to lie to him again. It was a vow I kept for a whole 20 minutes when I informed him with faux disappointment that the park was closed for the day. (It was, in fact, only 2pm, but before you judge me it was cold and raining).
Of course, when it comes to lies, there's the seasonal classic: 'Santa's watching, and he only brings presents to good boys and girls'.
Santa, that jolly old elf, is the ultimate trump card for parental peace during the holiday season. Behave or risk ending up on the naughty list — simple, effective, and a touch festive. If you are a toddler reading this, congratulations on being in the 98th percentile, and also know that no matter what you do, much like climate change, Santa is coming. Pay no heed to your parents as they try to stop you from climbing the Christmas tree — Santa is on your side, and don’t forget it.
And then there's the mysterious 'eyes in the back of your head' phenomenon. Toddlers are a curious bunch, exploring the world with an insatiable appetite for mischief and driving their parents to an early grave in the process. Enter the age-old parental fib - we possess mystical, all-seeing eyes. It's the perfect deterrent for any budding troublemaker. Suddenly, the urge to redecorate the living room with a Sharpie is replaced with wide-eyed innocence, and your toddler swears they were just admiring the wallpaper.
The lies we tell our toddlers are born out of love and a desperate desire to maintain some semblance of sanity in the chaos of parenthood.
So, the next time you catch a fellow parent spinning a web of fabrication to appease their tiny overlord, give them a knowing nod and say nothing. After all, in the world of parenting, sometimes dishonesty really is the best policy.