We tell the truth in our house. Or, at least, we try to tell the truth. Sometimes we fudge things a bit. I promise I did not eat the whole chocolate cake last night--the cats helped. So, I find myself wondering exactly how I've created a particular web of tales that I'm now struggling to keep up:
I told RJ that I have mommy magic, and that's how I can fix his scrapes without it hurting (it's Bandaid no-hurt wash, for those who are interested--it works!). I told him mommy magic is how I know his favorite foods and how I knew to get him Hot Wheels for Christmas to go with the track that Santa brought him. I have also told him that mommy magic is limited, and I just simply can't fix everything. Now, here's the problem. He asked me why my mommy magic is limited. And, I couldn't help myself. I told him my wand was broken. And then he asked me how it got broken. I told him I broke it in a fight with a dark wizard when I was 11. (I'm so ashamed). Now, he periodically asks me what the wand looked like, who the wizard was (you can probably guess his name), and if I'll ever get my wand back from the shop.
It's a problem.
We love the Skippyjohn Jones series of books. For the uninitiated, it's this delightful little series about a Siamese cat who imagines he's a Chihuahua on all kinds of adventures, most of which involve beans. RJ isn't a big eater. But he likes Taco Bell bean burritos. The reason he likes them? Skippyjohn Jones is in the kitchen baking up the beans and rolling burritos. Even worse? We have a Siamese cat that visits us every morning. We call him Puss-Puss, but really, he's Skippyjohn Jones, and he just likes to stop by to check in on his way to work at the Bell.
It's a problem. I really should stop.
There has been a big development in our house lately. Huge. RJ is sleeping in his own bed, upstairs, all night long. He has his protectors. There's Cuddles, who is in fact a trained snake fighter. (He's really my teddy bear from when I was about 8, and I love him.). And then, we have Bare Bear and Blue Bear, who are trained therapists with specialties in making sure that little boys are cuddled "just so" and who are very understanding about a bad day at school. And finally, we have Cheer Bear (yes, my almost five year old boy sleeps with Cheer Bear--he'll make a fabulous daddy someday). Cheer Bear has magical powers to bring sweet cheerful dreams.
The protectors aren't the problem. It's the fact that sometimes they misbehave and don't do their jobs. Then, I'm forced to march upstairs and put them in timeout. I've also been known to put a stuffed tiger in timeout and reveal that Cuddles is also a lion tamer.
Someday my son will tell his teachers about all of this, and they will believe he has a wonderful imagination. It's not his imagination.
And, finally, there's the issue of the racing mini-van. We see this super fast, super cool Mustang in the grocery store parking lot from time to time. It has flames on the sides. And, for whatever reason, I decided it would be a good idea to suggest to RJ that we put flames on the mini-van. He hasn't forgotten. And now, I'm having to wriggle my way out of this one. It's dicey. I'm sure at some point, the Swagger Wagon will develop her own feelings about the flames and tell me secretly that she's shy and doesn't want to be the center of attention.
I try to tell the truth. Most days, anyway. So, if you see me rolling in a flamed-up, totally awesome mini-van, please excuse my behavior, for I am a mom; and I can do only my best.
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