When Children “Alternate Facts”

Yes, I have spent a lot of time encouraging us to lie responsibly to spare our children the many ugly truths out there.  And yet, I have not broached the topic of when they lie to us… and it’s never to protect poor maw and paw!  They’re out to save their own hides- every time.  And my demi-Hellenic children seem to be particularly crafty.  Such weavers of tales, they are truly descendants of the likes of Homer and Euripides!

Of course, some lyin’ in the old apple is likely the tree’s fault… but you cannot allow your kids to pull the wool over your eyes.  A ten year old who can successfully bamboozle his parents today, will at fifteen be cruising around in a Trojan horse while you sit there smiling like an idiot, thinking the Greeks should start an online gift registry.

So, take this innocent little fib one of my children tried to pull on me.

“Hey- what does homework look like for you tonight?”

“Oh… homework?” His hesitation is a dead give away.  The game is afoot.trojan-horse

“Yeah- you know, that exciting ritual we participate in every weeknight as a family?  Lots of screaming and tears involved-sometimes some learning?”

“Right, right!  Weird.  Don’t have any.” He shrugs innocently and continues to rub his thumbs all over his damnable smart machine, avoiding eye contact.

“Huh.  That’s weird because Mrs. Harpy always assigns homework.  The woman is relentless!  Ruins most happy hours around this place….”

“Mom, you know her name is ‘Harper!’ Sheesh!”

“Sure, whatever you say.  So let’s see that assignment pad.”

“That won’t help because I have already completed everything that’s on the list.”

“Show  it to me anyway, along with the ‘completed’ homework as evidence.” He shifts uncomfortably.

“Oh, thaaat homework!  Yeah, I’ll get it out.  I haven’t finished it yet.”

He hadn’t finished it yet.

You have to kick the Trojan horse’s tires a bit to see if it’s hollow.  Last thing you want is a houseful of Greeks.  And I oughta know.  My house is chock full o’nuts!

Happy, merry Noëlf!

Never is the desire to pop the Noël bubble stronger than at 3:32 a.m., when you awaken in a cold sweat because you have once again forgotten to move the bloody Xmas elf that your sweet son depends upon for his childhood’s survival.   Apparently, nothing is more devastating than waking up to that slovenly creature sitting in the same spot, unmoved, and unwilling to show signs of life.

My friends, it may seem like a quaint idea, but in truth, the elf turns December into a daily cat and mouse game in which your child runs down the stairs to see what new, inventive position the damnable homunculus will present… while you sweat it out at the top of the stairs hoping your spouse moved the slippery sprite because you sure as hell didn’t!  Will he be dangling from the chandelier in a jaunty stance?  Maybe the little coquette is peeking out from between the Christmas tree branches?  Oh, no, wait, he’s in the same flippin’ place as yesterday!  What was once cute and amusing a mere 24 hours before, now only serves to disappoint the expectant pixie-acolyte.

“Why didn’t he move, Mommy?”

“Because he’s a lazy, vindictive SOB, kid.”  OK, I have never said that, but I’ve wanted to.

“Mommy isn’t sure.” One remembers the drunken Saturday night haze with some level of remorse.  “Sometimes they are so tired from watching and reporting back telepathically to Santa that they lose the strength to move.  Plus he loves watching you at that angle, where he celf-2an see you all stretched out in your pajamas.  I guess?”  Gotta dial back the perv.

“Oh, well I love him watching me, too!”  The mind reels- hopefully not a sign of things to come.  “But if he doesn’t move again, do you think it means he’s lost his magic?”

“Impossible with your level of belief in him!  I mean our level of belief, ours!”

“OK, I just hope no one has touched him.  One wrong touch and it instantly makes him lose his magic.”  Yeah, I’ve had dates like that.  I get it, Elfie.

“No, certainly not!  He’ll move tonight.  I can feel it!”  Note to self….

Listen, I’m a Santa-and-all-things-enchanted advocate, but let me tell, you, that freakin’ elf blows.  He’s a high maintenance, all-take-and-no give sort of guy.  Avoid him like the plague!  Of course, if your kid asks for one, it’s tantamount to throwing down the gauntlet.  Plainly put: you’re screwed.  Off to the impromptu Christmas store set up in your local strip mall sometime in August to make sure you were good and sick and tired of the holidays by mid September.

Yes, it’s truly exhausting to come up with daily never-before-seen places and stances for this poorly articulated imp.  But we do it for the children!  We do it for love!  It adds to the mystery that is Christmas- or so I keep telling myself.  Anywho, I’m so well-versed at this point that I am currently writing a “kama sutra for dummies” on elf positions.  Relax, people, it’s clean!

Sheesh- and bah, humbug!

 

 

 

 

Stop Lame Ducking It!

Allow me to get realpolitik on you here: I hate talking politics.  That being said, I really hate talking politics- even with like-minded friends!  What could possibly be worse than having a disagreeable conversation with an adult?  Having said discussion with a child.  Let us adults please assert ourselves, and stop allowing the silent majority to make family meals into their own, private rubber chicken circuit.

Ah, the child with a political opinion is akin to a chimpanzee with a cigarette.*  Sure it’s kinda funny at first, but you just wait till that chimpanzee gets out of its depth with that tabackey and starts flinging excrement in a fit electoral-college-winner-button of nicotine-induced rage, and I tell you what!  Cute turns ugly right quick.

Nothing is more horrible than having to engage a child, who is not even aware of our tangled electoral college , blithering on and on about wall-building and leaked emails.  Those earnest wide-eyed ten year olds cannot put the “pun” in pundit for love nor money.   So, parents, please do not instruct your children in your cockamamie political ideas!  I don’t want to hear them from you, and especially not from your poorly informed, amygdala-happy spawn.   I had my kids convinced that if Trump won, we would have to climb over walls just to access our favorite Mexican restaurants.   People that gullible have no business discussing politics.  Mercifully they cannot vote!

baby-politicssSo, tonight, as the debate between Hilarity and Rump rages, keep your kids far from the idiot box.  Let them dream of sugarplums and baby bunnies, and not Benghazi and rampant misogyny .  There is no bleeding heart that will tolerate some child on the bully pulpit tomorrow filibustering the hell out of their morning.

I, for one, plan to avoid anyone under the age of 16 tomorrow to lower my chances of being trapped by some lunatic ‘tween on a whistle stop tour.  If I don’t, I  may have to go all ad hominem on someone’s @$$….

 

*I’m harkening back to my childhood memories in my beloved, suffering Venezuela.