Trust Me

I've always known that trust is an essential part of any relationship. And I've always wanted my kids to trust me. Without hesitation.

And if you'd have asked me how I thought I could make that happen, I'd say by trusting them in return.

But lately I'm finding that there is a lot of grey area in that seemingly black and white equation.

My oldest has had her history of little white lies. Reading back over that entry I realized that a couple of years ago I wasn't exactly encouraging her to tell the truth, which is what I have been heavily emphasizing lately. If I punish her for lying there's no telling that she won't just try to get better at lying, rather than start telling the truth. And it goes without saying that if she isn't lying, or that if I don't absolutely know the truth of a situation, and I'm blaming her for it anyway, I'm destroying her trust in me.

So over the last couple years I've been trying to trust her more, so that she'll trust me. At least trust me enough to tell me the truth and not be so fearful of the consequences.

I say that I have been "trying" to trust her more because at times that's a difficult task. This past week has proven so. But it's also proven what will happen if I don't.

We had a couple of little lies this week. The first one was related to a shirt that I found in my daughter's drawer. I was pretty sure it wasn't hers, so I asked her. She just shrugged. So I asked her if the shirt belonged to one of her friends that she is always trading clothes with on play dates. She said she didn't think so. But this time she was suppressing a smile. It was the kind of smile that tells me she's lying.

I asked her one more time and she said "I dunno, maybe" as if this would pass for a decent answer. I very nicely explained that she the best thing to do is to tell the truth and if she was trying to lie to me I was not at all happy. At this point she just shut down a little and said "I guess so" in response to another question about whether or not this belonged to her friend.

I knew that she was lying about not knowing, and I figured it was because she liked the shirt and wanted to keep it. I explained that her friend probably liked it just as much and was missing it. But she still didn't come right out and tell me it belonged to her.

A couple days later when I asked her about the shirt, she readily admitted it was her friends. It was sort of as if she had forgotten she was originally trying to lie about it.

Then later that same day she tried to pull off another little lie. Once again I tried to explain that telling the truth would save her from more consequences than lying would. I still couldn't break through and sell "the truth will set you free" concept.

On Thursday she came home from school and immediately brought me a note that I needed to sign. It was a note her teacher made her write to me explaining that she had kicked a boy in her class because he was "being too loud and not listening to me ten times when I asked him to be quiet."

I asked her what was going on when all this happened, and she said she didn't want to tell me. I said something about it being frustrating when people don't listen to you, and then she just put it all out there. Apparently this boy was teasing her about liking another boy in the class, the aforementioned admirer, and he wouldn't stop saying it over and over to her. So she kicked him a good one.

Now part of me was happy to see her stick up for herself. Don't let the loud mouths of the world keep you down, sister!

But of course I didn't tell her that. I told her the right thing to do was to find the teacher, yada, yada, yada. And then I realized that I was really happy that she just came out and told me the story. No lies, no refusal to explain.

A step in the right direction!

Then later that night we all got in the car to go to our local Farmer's Market. My husband sat in the back with our younger daughter, which means it must have been a full moon on the fourth Thursday of a month starting with "m" because that almost never happens. While back there he found a little doodling on the car. In ink. On the interior of the car.

I was immediately not happy. He seemed to just shrug it off, but for whatever reason this made me really upset. I asked our oldest if it was her and she denied it. But she did get a little smirk.

Aha! I thought I had her cornered so I acted as such.

Not good. Before too long she was in tears vehemently denying it was her.

My husband put the kabash on my investigation, but I had a really hard time letting it go. I figured that it MUST have been her, since she's in that far back seat about 95% of the time when we are in the car, and it was in pen, which she often has in her hands in the car after school, writing notes or lists or what not.

All signs pointed to her. And I was determined to get to the bottom of this.

Yesterday, which was the following day, I went to try to clean off the pen doodle. As I was walking out there I said again that I was upset that she wasn't telling me the truth. My husband very wisely pointed out that we have to trust her if she's going to trust us. I agreed with that, but between me and you, I chalked that up to something I would do after this situation was cleared up. There was no way I was going to trust her with this one, because I knew, without doubt, that I was right about this one.

So I went to scrubbing this little inch or two of ink drawing, that I had thought was an ice cream cone, with an arrow pointing to the cup holder, as if my daughter was labeling what was there. At least that's what it looked like from the front of the car.

But up close I realized that the 'drawing' is much more rudimentary than it appeared from the driver's seat.

Instantly I start wondering if it was someone else in the family.

So while I'm sitting at the car wash with my younger daughter and my son, I casually ask my daughter if she wrote on the car.

Bingo! She says, sweetly and simply, "yes".

I immediately feel the yolk oozing down my face. Remorse starts setting up camp.

I don't react too much and simply say "I guess that explains why you were awfully quiet during that conversation I had with your sister last night in the car". I of course give her a dose of guilt, adding that I'm really not happy with her actions, that it wasn't fair for her to let me keep blaming her sister, and that I expect more from her now that she's five and a half. Which I now realize is a year younger than my oldest when we went through the "Pants on Fire" shenanigans that I wrote of in 2008.

She understands and I leave it at that.

I feel relieved to finally have an answer.

And I begin composing my apology to my oldest.

I tell my oldest later on that day that I'm very sorry for not believing her. I help her understand that I was very wrong and I fully know it. She's happy that I finally know the truth.

Now I have to ask, where are we?

There is just a lot of grey area here. I want to trust my kids, but that trust gets chipped away every time I catch one of them in a lie. I want them to trust me, but that too gets chipped away every time I don't trust them.

This whole 'raising kids' thing can be quite complicated.

Trust me.

Slow Down You Move Too Fast

This week we had another reminder of how fast life moves. Or rather, I should say, how fast our children grow up.

One afternoon as we were having some relative quiet time while my son napped, and a bit out of the blue the doorbell rang.

My oldest daughter and I went to the door to see who it was and we were greeted with empty space. Instead of a person at the door, we found a note under a rock on our door mat.

The first thing I noticed was pink writing, so I figured it was a note from one of her friends. Upon closer look I saw the word "love" written over and over on one side. And then a part of me had a flashback to childhood days, recognizing that there may be something related to puppy love involved with the scene. We have had some ding-dong-ditching here and there, courtesy of a neighborhood boy in my daughter's class, and I smelled a connection.

Sure enough, as my daughter picked it up and read it she seemed to get a little embarrassed. I had already walked back into the kitchen, and when I saw her enter, cheeks a little blushed, she was ripping the note up into pieces with a little smirk on her face.

The little girl in me got a little giddy and said "what are you doing?" while giggling and trying to get her to give me the pieces so I could read it. Then my motherly senses kicked in and I backed off and asked her about it.

She just said it was a note from a boy (the one in our neighborhood) but that it said it was from another boy in their class. However she knows that this other boy doesn't live close by and that our little neighborhood boy doesn't really like this other boy. So she surmised that our neighbor must have written the note to play a joke on his "frenemy". That's my term, not hers.

I asked what it said and she told me it said this other boy liked her.

And that was it. Off she went to throw the paper shreds away. I stopped her part way to the garbage can and had her put the pieces in the recycling, since it seems I'm always thinking green. And truth be told, I was thinking that I might want to get those pieces back later.

Later on that night I couldn't take it anymore. I went to get the pieces out of the paper recycling bin in the kitchen. But my husband had emptied it into the larger bin in the garage.

So off I went to the garage, my mother bear senses kicking into high gear while my desire to find out what this note said turned into an outright need.

I finally fished out as many pieces as I could find and brought them into the family room and put them on the coffee table.

"What's that?" my husband asks.

"A love note that was anonymously dropped off for our daughter," I tell him.

"Seriously?" he inquires.

"Yup."

Together we put together as much as we could to decipher the note, even though a couple pieces were missing. Truth be told, my hubby didn't help much. I was the one that cared the most, at least until we read what the note said.

I was finally able to read most of the note, much of which said "love" over and over. But the first line said "Dear {oldest daughter}, I love you so much I want to kiss you with tongue twist. Love {other boy}"

Whaaaaat?!?

Since when do 8 year olds talk about kissing? And kissing with tongue? I mean, that shouldn't come on the scene for another few years at least.

"I'm gonna go kick his ass," my husband said. And he had a bit of a chuckle in his voice, but let me tell you, there was no chuckle in his eyes or on his face.

I try to offer a little defense for this boy, telling my husband that I think he's had a crush on our daughter all year. I mean he ordered 2 boxes of girl scout cookies from my daughter even though his mother was standing there telling him that they already had enough. He insisted on getting them and paying for them himself. And when those said cookies were delivered, about a week later he had an urge for more, and asked my daughter during class to come by later and deliver more.

I also reasoned with him that this boy has an older brother and sister, one of whom I was pretty sure was in high school.

And then I said "But really, that's just so in appropriate."

But what do 8 year olds know from appropriate? My husband asked if we should go talk to his mother.

I thought it over and just said we should let things lie for now. It was just kids being kids. Even if they are more mature for their age than they should be.

But really, our oldest daughter is perfectly happy with headphones on, plugged into an iPod, listening to Taylor Swift and trying to learn all the words to songs that sing about feelings she won't have for many, many years.

It is what it is. Life moving too fast.

I decided I'd go up and tuck our daughter in and just put it out there that I'm available to talk if she has any questions. I asked her again about the note and asked how she felt about it all. She shrugged and said she was fine and just figured it was the neighbor being a goof.

Apparently any concerns she had went into the recycling with the shreds of pink inked paper.

And while I hope she takes a bit of flattery from it, I'm not sure if she even knows what that is yet. But I certainly know that it didn't go to her head too much, as she wasn't prancing around or tucking the note under her pillow.

And the next day she was outside playing with the neighborhood kids again, as if nothing had happened. Not sure what this boy was thinking at the time. Probably that he got away with a good joke.

I think perhaps I'll leave a note at his doorstep next week that reads "slow down you move too fast".

To Play or Not To Play

I've run into a new dilemma lately. So get ready to put on your thinking caps and offer any suggestions that might come to mind.

Recently I got an email requesting a play date with my oldest daughter. It was from the mother of a child in her class. My first reaction was "how nice!". And I of course politely accepted and we started working on dates and times.

While the plans were flying through the virtual world, I mentioned this impending play date to my daughter. And the funny thing is, it didn't occur to me until just that moment that my daughter is too old for me to be setting up her play dates for her. These days she comes to me herself and asks for the play date. More specifically she says "mom, can I go over to so-and-so's house tomorrow after school?" and then we talk about whether this has been cleared through the friends' parents and all that. And then I work with the parents to make sure it's okay, clarify timing, etc.

There have even been times lately when a friend of hers calls the house and they talk about a play date over the phone and arrange it. This is like a bad game of "telephone" with me on the second-hand conversation side with my daughter and the other mom on the second-hand conversation side with my daughter's friend on the other end of the phone. It's like 3 conversations all happening at once.

But I think these are sort of the bridging years for my daughter. She's able to make those calls, or receive them, and then just clear it all through me. In fact, there are times when she goes riding her bike around the neighborhood with the "older" girl next door, and I never even talk to that mom directly. I just assume that mom knows what they are doing, that she's getting the same request as me, and that if she's cleared it with her daughter then it's okay by me.

At some point we are just going to hit the "mom, I'm going outside to play!" point [editor's note: we have actually hit that point, I'm just refusing to remember or admit it] and pretty soon I'm going to have to start sneaking around the neighborhood spying on what she's doing if I want to know exactly who she's with and where they are.

And I don't even want to think about the next stage after that when it involves the opposite gender.

So back to the play date scheduling. I mention it to my daughter and she sort of makes a funny face. We talk about it and as it turns out, she doesn't really know this girl very well and it's not one of the girls she "runs around with" at school. She tells me she's a perfectly nice girl, it's just that it seemed sort of strange to her that they would set up a play date since they are pretty different personalities. I think I may have put a nicer spin on that than my daughter, but you get the idea.

Fast forward and the day arrives. The girl comes over and makes herself at home. I tell my daughter to show her around the house, which she does, and then they pick out a game to play. They spend an hour or so, which is all the time we had, playing politely together. I can of course immediately see the difference between this play date and her usual ones. Much less energy and excitement. Much less drama. And I'm thinking a little less fun for my child.

And that's when I realized that I was put in a tough spot and I did the best I could.

And so did my daughter. I coached her about being nice and open minded, and she did an absolutely wonderful job with it all. Which quite frankly surprised me a bit, since she can be a lot like a 13 year old at times with the attitude.

So we got through it all with flying colors, and when it was over I asked my daughter what she thought of it. She said "it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be".

While not a gold-star response, I'll take it. I told her I was proud of her for being open minded and a polite host.

And then it happened.

Another request. Almost immediately.

Now I'm really in a tough spot. I had no choice but to be "breezy" and say how lovely it all was and that our scheduling is really crazy right now, so "I'll be in touch".

I can't help but feel like one of the "mean girls". But honestly, my children can pick their own friends; that's not part of my job.

So I guess what is part of my job is being politely "breezy" on their behalf so as not to hurt too many feelings.

I hope it worked.

Signs of Things to Come

I think we've entered into a new chapter in our family this week.  It's all about the boy-girl thing.  Or boys trying to impress girls at least.  Okay, let me explain.

I have to start by saying that one of the best parts of living in a planned community with about 5 feet in between your house and your neighbor, and what feels like only 20 square feet of backyard, is that you are sort of forced into the neighborhood for your outdoor play.  This means that when we are outside, so are all of the kids in our immediate area.  The kids of the month right now are a few 11 and 12 year old boys that live on either side of us, and a couple of 2 year old boys down the street as well.  This story really pertains more to the older boys.   But for the record, there are also a few girls ages 6 to 12 right around the corner, it's just that the boys tend to circulate around our street due to the proximity to their houses.  

Now let me say that these boys are absolutely adorable and very sweet with my little kids.  And lately they've been great at keeping all of my children entertained, especially my oldest.  They ride their scooters and bikes around with them and in general they all have a lot of fun.

The interesting part started when one of the boys came over on his electric motor bike.  This is something that looks like a small version of a motor bike, but makes no noise when it runs since it's an electric motor that runs on battery.  Pretty cool.  So cool in fact that my husband took a spin on it the other day and was quite amused by it all.

While they were all riding around, my husband included, the boy that owns it offered to give my oldest daughter a ride on the back.  She agreed, then hopped on, and off they went down the street (with helmet of course).  

That's where it all began.  The sight of her on the back of that bike, holding on tight to that little boy, was sort of a life changing event for us.  It was like we were watching our daughter take off on the back of a motorcycle after her boyfriend picked her up to go out on a Saturday night.  

It's definitely bittersweet to watch your kids grow up.  You rejoice in their new endeavors and adventures, but you realize that even if it's not right this moment, at some point they will be letting go of you and grabbing on to their future.  Hopefully they will do this one hand at a time, or even one finger at a time, but nonetheless, they will be letting go one day.

Thankfully for right now she's still holding on tight to us.  But that vision made us see the future a little more clearly.  And with a little more fright too.  Of course it didn't hurt that she had a tattoo on her arm at the time which was a star with wings on it, just like you might see on a biker babe's arm.  So there she was, helmet strapped on, all inked up, riding on the back of this guy's bike.  Are you with me now?

As an aside, later on that afternoon my husband says that she pretty much went "toe-to-toe" with a couple of these boys during a discussion.  She was apparently determined that her point of view was correct, and she wasn't going to back down to them.  And if you know my oldest child at all, this probably doesn't surprise you.  She may be only 7 years old, but she thinks much like a 10 or 12 year old, often surprisingly so.  Perhaps this is filling in the picture a bit more for you now.

So after the bike fun was over it was back to scootering and sidewalk chalk as usual.  Then a few days later, the same offer was made, and she was back on that bike with this sweet young man (little boy, really, but you can't help but think of him as a  young man because he's so nice and well-mannered).  Again, the ride was over and she was back to her usual 7-year-old play.

A few days later, one of the other boys came over knocking on the door after school.  He had a new electric scooter and he was looking for someone to share the excitement with, so he thought he'd see if my oldest was around.  But she was at a friend's house, so I had to send him packing.  While he's walking away he says "don't tell her, okay?" meaning that he doesn't want me to tell my daughter that he stopped by.  Hmmmm.

The next day when we were outside playing, here he comes on his new electric scooter.  He shows us all his new toy, and after a little bit he asks if my oldest daughter wants to ride on the back of it with him.  While this boy is nice, and the scooter seems fun, it's just not the same as a motor bike, and my daughter declines.  He then asks a couple more times, and ends with a "are you sure?" and I can hear that he's a little disappointed.

Uh oh.  They might only be 12 years old boys, but they are in tune with the competition that life offers, and it seems that there is a very subtle bit of it riding in the wake of all these electric motors.  And I think my daughter has unknowingly crushed a smidgeon of it.

So here we are.  The door to the next phase of life has cracked open and given us a glimpse of things to come.  The boys calling at the door.  The rides off into the sunset. The disappointment of rejection.  

Thankfully I think that door only opened a tiny bit, and it is now closed again.  But it's bound to re-open sometime soon.

A little too soon I'm afraid.

Playground Trash Talk

It happened again.

Last night my oldest is in the bathtub and she is babbling away with some imaginary friend or something of that nature, and she says "the F word."

She says it just like that. "The F word." As if it was a tag on to some sentence she just uttered.

My husband is walking past the tub right at that moment and I'm on the computer with my back to them. I instantly turn around with huge eyes and a bit of a smirk on my face.

We give each other a quick look that says "now what?".

Just as he's trying to make a quick getaway she asks "What's the F word mean?"

You'll notice she didn't say "what is" the F word, which would mean that she thinks this mystery is all wrapped up in those exact three words. Not in the one actual word that starts with the letter F.

My husband fields the question with another question.

"Where did you hear that?" he asks. Like a pro, that man of mine.

"Some kids at the playground were talking about it. I don't know what it is but I think it's something bad," she says.

And then she just keeps on playing in the tub and sort of changes the subject herself.

We know when to leave well enough alone and not provide any information, especially when none is being pursued.

If only those trash talkin' kids on the playground would do the same.

Until next time.

The Finger

Yes, it is as you think. The dreaded finger. But it’s probably not as bad as you are imagining, so here’s the story.

My 6 year old daughter is supposed to fill out her reading log for school so her teacher can see what she has been reading at home every night, as well as what has been read to her by her parents.

The other night she is filling it out and I am desperately trying to be patient with her as she writes down the titles and the amount of time we spent reading. If you aren’t familiar with it, it is really hard to just sit and watch a person that has just learned to write. There is a whole lot of erasing going on. So much so that you just want to snatch that little pencil away from her and do it yourself. Or at least if you are a control freak like me you do.

So I’m trying to point to places to write things, because letters get all out of proportion and the word “The” takes up so much room that there isn’t enough space left for the other 5 words in the title. And as I’m pointing to the paper, at one point I must have used my middle finger.

My daughter breaks out of her studious mode and starts holding up her middle finger on her right hand and a smirk comes across her face. Although the palm of her hand is facing me, I still sense that something is coming about “the finger”.

She then giggles and says “You shouldn’t use this finger. It’s a bad finger.”

“Why is that?” I ask innocently. “What’s so bad about it?”

“It’s not nice,” she says.

“What’s not nice?” I ask, still avoiding the inevitable.

“It means something not so nice,” she says.

I don’t really know where to go from here, so I just come out and ask it. “What’s it mean?”

“It means you are stupid. Or something like that. Doesn’t it?” she says.

Phew! We narrowly missed that one.

“Who told you that?” I ask. I must know where this is coming from, even if I have no control whatsoever who she plays with at school. At least I will know who to be weary of.

She told me it was one of the girls she plays with whose name she has mentioned before. Yes, a girl. She must have an older sibling or something, or so I like to think.

So be it. The girl is now placed on my suspect list.

I end the conversation with “Well it’s just not the finger we are supposed to point with – we should be using this finger,” I tell her, holding up my index finger.

Thankfully that suffices and she seems embarrassed enough not to push it further. For which I am thankful, because what am I supposed to do now? Teach her what it really means? No thank you.

I'll let that happen in it's own time, the way it's been done all through the years.

So we move on.

Until the next time.

The Magic is Gone

The other day I was driving home with all my kids in the car and my oldest asks, "How come none of the characters at Disneyland are real?".

Whhhhaaaaaat!? My brain did a screeching halt in the middle of our drive.

She's only six. Well, almost seven, but still, she's six! I'm not ready for all this non-magical thinking. Life is so easy when you get to pretend right along with your kids. It has such an innocence and endless possibility feel to it. I want to make her stay in Neverland and never grow up. After all, she is my first baby.

[Insert heavy sigh here.]

"What do you mean they weren't real?" I ask.

"Well they aren't real animals," she responds.

"What makes you say that?" I ask. Notice that I didn't say "how do you know that?" or anything that might insinuate she is correct. You have to be careful about these things when dealing with an astute grade school kid.

"When one of them turned around I saw the zipper on his back," she says.

"Yeah," says my younger daughter. Even though I'm not really sure she knew what her sister was saying, but by this time she really wants to get in on this discussion.

"Hmmmm," I say as I stall. Then I quickly follow it up with "hey, it's David Cook on the radio - listen!" and I turn up the volume to curb any further discussion.

Distraction to the rescue. My props go out to American Idol and it's good, clean fun for kids.

Now a couple days pass by and my husband and I are discussing the Republican Vice President nominee Sarah Palin.

Ugh.

That's as far as I'll go with a political discussion on my blog.

Just the night before we had mentioned something about her 17 year old daughter being pregnant, and my oldest picked up on it. She said "17!!??" and then followed it up with "that seems really young to be having a baby." Yes, little wise one, you are correct.

So here we are again the next morning discussing the latest news in front of her. Big mistake.

"So she's not married?" she asks.

"No, she's getting married soon," I say. Now I'm really hoping our discussion ends here.

But, alas, my wish is not fulfilled.

"So how do you get pregnant anyway?" she asks.

Oh the dread. The fear. The anxiety. Gulp.

My husband makes a loud coughing noise and proceeds to bury his nose back in the newspaper. Thanks for the support honey.

"We'll talk about that when you get older," I say. Then I quickly follow it up with "so what do you want in your lunch today?" and I rattle off a list of possibilities so long that the thought of pregnancy and its whereabouts can only be left behind in the crannies of her mind.

Distraction strikes again.

I don't know how long I can keep this up.

I'm sure the jolly old man in the red suit and the fairy that delivers money under your pillow are on the short list for upcoming inquisitions.

Time for a little parental preparation. There's only so long she'll buy this distraction crap.

Uninvited

Last night I was reminded of something I had said to a friend a while back. It went a little something like this: we need to help our children become strong, confident and independent in everything we do and say, and we need to make sure that we continue to build their inner strength until it is over-fortified.

Why, you ask? Because when they go out into the world, they will inevitably have experiences that chip away at their foundation and we won't be able to help them. One could really argue that they will be up against the world all on their own, or so it will seem. And at some point our work becomes less potent because their friends and social situations have more impact than our words. That's when we need to hope and trust that we have done all the work necessary so that when they face negative experiences, as they always will, they come away with minimal damage. Or better yet, they come away stronger, because we have not only done our work, we have also given them some tools to make their own repairs.

This little nugget of wisdom was rolling around my mind last night as I watched my oldest struggling to be included in a twosome that was not open to being a threesome. We were at someone's house for dinner, and she nor I had ever met the children before. There was a girl about 5 years older than her, and another girl about her age, and they were cousins who hadn't seen each other in a little while, from what I gathered. On this first night of their reunion, in walks my daughter to join the fun.

But the problem was, they didn't invite her, and the guest list was not open to negotiation. In my daughter's innocence, she didn't think she needed an invitation, she was just jumping right in to have some fun.

But try as she might, she couldn't keep up. They were literally leaving her behind as they rambled through the yard on their "obstacle course". When they built a fort inside they didn't let her in, as I found out later. At some points, the girls would question her right to her face, wondering why she did this or that, and in general just trying to get her to stop attempting to play with them.

When it all became obvious to me, I was sitting with my 3 year old daughter on my lap watching the older girls play. We were within about 30 minutes of leaving, so I just sat there and held my other daughter close, and watched. I kept saying to my younger daughter "are you still my baby?" and "you can be my baby forever!" and was hugging her tight. And then I'd look up and get a sinking feeling in my chest as I watched my oldest scrambling to be included.

I realized later that all I was doing and saying to my younger daughter was really meant for my oldest. My heart was ripping open and all I wanted to do was fold her up, put her in my pocket and announce that we were leaving.

But, being in this particular situation with virtual strangers that are connected through my husband's work, I decided to just watch and trust.

Finally my oldest began to play on her own. Every now and then, she'd go back and try to keep up, only to get shut down again. And back she would go to play on her own.

Then I said enough is enough and announced that we were leaving. Luckily we had the baby's bed time as a good excuse.

On the way home I asked my daughters if they had fun. Initially my oldest responded with a "yes" and then followed it up with "but those girls weren't really all that nice since they didn't let me in their fort". I told her that she did a great job being open to playing with new people, and that she did the right thing in handling the situation.

Instead of whining about it or coming to me crying, she just stuck with it. And then she realized on her own that it wasn't worth it. I commended her for being able to work through the situation and take care of herself.

This was one of those times when I was glad that I have spent so much of my own blood, sweat and tears pumping her up. She needed it. In the end, I think it helped her through.

Albeit a rare day when my daughter is in this kind of situation, I was glad I was there to see what happened. There will be so many more times like this in her future (hopefully the distant future), when I won't be there to make sure she is okay.

In the meantime I will continue to build and fortify. And make any repairs as they become necessary.

Now if only we could repair all those little tears in my heart just as quickly, we'd be in good shape.

Pants on Fire

There has been a rash of graffiti in our house lately. It seems as though my oldest has discovered the power of the pen. Now that she can write, she feels compelled to do it everywhere.

It started out on pillows and cushions (that are in our play room, not the living room, thankfully). Then it spread to her hands, her sister’s hands, and any willing victim within striking distance of her marker. Most of these were just doodles and marks, without a lot of meaning.

Next was the baby gate at the top of the stairs. Along the top of the wooden gate was written “Come Enzo. Sit Enzo. Stay Enzo. Lie down Enzo.” Not sure where this tribute to the dog came from, but apparently there was a dire need to get it out in green marker.

After making her clean it up, I told her one more incident and she would lose any chance of a play date for a few days. Of course, we are in the middle of a play date-less week right now because she popped out of bed one too many times the other night at bedtime.

So fast forward to the next day and we are making thank you cards outside. Pens, glue sticks, paper, and lots of wind. Really good idea I had.

Upon clean up, I realize a piece of paper has been glued to the wooden bench we were sitting on. I immediately say “Who did this?”

“Not me,” my oldest says, with an entirely straight face. My internal lie detector fails to go off so I ask the other suspect.

“It wasn’t me, mommy,” insists my younger daughter. Now I am wondering what’s going on. My youngest doesn’t lie (yet), and my oldest is a terrible liar. She’s all smirks and giggles.

I ask my oldest again. Again she insists it wasn’t her. And again, no beeps from my maternal lie detector.

Here we go back to the youngest. Another denial.

Now I’m sure it was my oldest. Which REALLY concerns me because she just passed of a great lie. And not once, but twice.

After peeling off more of the paper, I see that there are words written on the bench underneath. Then there are lines on top of the words as if they were scratched out.

Aha. Now I see. She wrote on the bench, then scratched it out, as if this would make it go away. When that didn’t work, she glued paper over it as a last ditch effort to cover her tracks.

The kicker here is that I had JUST reminded her not to write on anything but paper mere minutes before this incident occurred. And she even thanked me for reminding her!

But apparently that little voice in her head telling her to spread the written word was louder than mine. No wonder she just got the "Author Award" in her Kindergarten class. I guess her teacher doesn't know that she's been writing a novel - all over our house.

Now that I have her cornered, she admits to it and says she didn’t want to get in trouble, so she lied.

I explain to her what her actions mean to me. And I tell her that she loses two more days of possible play dates for writing on the bench, and another three more for lying about it.

She huffs and puffs but eventually concedes.

I guess if I have to choose between the doodling or the lying, I’ll take the graffiti any day. This doesn’t bode well for the “tween” years that are looming ahead.

Is this the end of the innocence?

Damn, if she would only have smirked a little.