According to my son, I can no longer handle the truth – or at least I’m not going to be getting it from him anymore! I am sad to say that I believe tonight was the end of an era- the era where my son told the truth- even when it was ugly.
Me: “Did you bite your sister even though you know we only bite food?”
Jagger: “Yes- she took my train”
Me: “Did you just kick the dog even though I told you he doesn’t like that?”
Jagger: “Yes- he was in my way”
Me: “Did you dump all of that water onto the floor after I asked you to stop?”
Jagger: “Yes- I was cleaning the floor”
Me: “Timeout” (of course timeout isn’t in the tub)
Me: “Did you just color on the wall when I told you that markers are for paper?
Jagger: “Yes- I like it”
Me: “Timeout” (and here’s a sponge)
So you get it. Based on that, can you blame him? Would it be wrong to be sad but proud of him at the same time? He’s learning all about cause and effect and manipulating outcomes- he’s getting smarter in the ways of the world. He’s learning that lying can have its benefits- or at least keep him out of the timeout chair. That’s also a lot to be sad about. Not only will I have to wonder which of my children drew on the wall or drew blood from the other, but I really believe that one of the truly beautiful things about children is their wholesome attitude and their raw, unfiltered truth about everything.
Tonight when I asked my son (for the 30th time), “Why is B crying? What happened?” and he said, “I don’t want to tell you” I knew it was a significant moment – a moment of realization that changes us as people, our communication, our relationships – even the one with ourselves. I’m not sure why it resonated with me so strongly – perhaps it was a clear (and not so happy) sign of growing up.