I’ve realized that my 4-year-old daughter will either be the greatest story-teller ever or the next Pinocchio, because this child of mine sure can lie.
The other day I walked into their room and couldn’t even get pass the mountain of toys that was blocking my way. There was so much stuff lying around, I needed a GPS just to get to their closet. So I asked them to clean it up. After about 20 minutes of nagging and trying to convince me that they had better things to do like staple papers together, my patience was running its limit, so I did the next best thing and offered them money.
favorite one that day oldest one, being the smart cookie that she is, took the money and started cleaning up. The youngest one, well, she had a very reasonable explanation about why she shouldn’t clean up.
“I shouldn’t be the one cleaning the room because I didn’t make that mess!”
“You didn’t make the mess? Really? So if it wasn’t you, who did it?”
“Ok, I’ll tell you, this is what happened, for real. You see, last night when the whole house was sleeping a black tornado came in the house and picked up all the toys and just THREW THEM ALL OVER THE PLACE! It made such a mess mami, but that’s why the room is so messy.”
“A tornado came in the house and only messed up your room?”
“Yeah, I don’t think tornadoes like toys.”
” Tornadoes are very loud, how come I didn’t wake up?”
“It was a black tornado for real. FOR. REAL!!! You see, I tried to wake you and papi and Antonella up, but everyone was sleeping really hard, sooooo I went outside and took the broom and pushed the tornado out the window!”
Let me just add that her face was dead serious. Not one smile.
“Did you really do that? You must be very strong because tornadoes are very powerful.”
“I am strong because I eat ALL my veggies.”
No she doesn’t. Not even one.
“So who’s going to help your sister clean the toys?”
“I don’t know…” She turns and walks away, stops, turns around, hand on hip and says, “…AND YOU ARE WELCOME!”
One day, I saw that her shirt had a big cut on the front. I knew it had been her because I’d already caught her trying to cut her hair. So I asked what happened to her shirt and this was her incredibly, believable explanation:
“It was Hello Kitty, she cut my shirt.”
“Hello Kitty? As in the doll?
“Oh no mami, don’t be silly! Dolls can’t move! My FRIEND Hello Kitty! Duh!” Insert eye roll.
“You have a friend named Hello Kitty? Really?”
She does not. Obviously. What kind of parents would name their kid Hello Kitty?
“Yeah. FOR. REAL!!! You’ve never seen her before, but she’s not my imaginary friend. You’ve just never seen her. And she totally cut my shirt.”
As she walks away with the scissors still in her hand.
“Itala, please eat all your food.”
“I really can’t mami.”
“Why can’t you eat your fish?”
“Because it didn’t qualify.”
“It didn’t qualify? Qualify for what?”
“It didn’t qualify to be eaten today, so I really can’t.”
I can’t make this stuff up.
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