When my friend (and oh yeah, New York Time’s Bestselling author) Jennifer Probst suggested this idea for a post I was already laughing before I’d even read it. I knew Jen would have a hilarious take on this aspect of motherhood, and I was totally right! Read on for Jen’s Momfession and be sure to comment and let us know if you’re part of the Mommy Liars Club. ~Rachel
The Big Fat Liars Club by Jennifer Probst
Hello. My name is Jennifer. I’m a mother of two boys.
And I’m a big fat liar.
Welcome Jennifer.
Thanks. Glad to be here. I remember how difficult my first lie was. See, I had decided early on I would never lie to my children. I hated the idea of being that mom. The one that took the easy road and who didn’t want to answer hard questions. The one who couldn’t dole out good old fashioned discipline in the wake of a temper tantrum and chose to lie and make life easier.
Yes, I know. That was BC. Before children. When I had more morals and energy.
Anyway, the first lie happened in a public restaurant. I had passed one of those awful, red garish candy machines perched at the exit, used to torture parents and entice children to spend money. My son saw a plastic monkey in one of those bubbles. He wanted it. Real bad. Funny thing, he was such a good little boy, rarely had temper tantrums, and was quite reasonable even as a baby when I told him no. Imagine my surprise when he didn’t take my no in stride and proceeded to throw himself on the floor, yelling he wanted that monkey, now, please, please mommy I NEED it!
I got stared at. Got red in the face. Tried dragging him off the floor, kicking and screaming, and in a split second, had to make a decision. Did I scrounge around at the bottom of my purse for a lousy quarter to make him stop, or come up with some kind of valid response to get him the hell out of there?
So, I lied.
“The machine is broken!” I said over and over. “I will get it for you next time, but first they have to fix the machine, okay? Look!” I cranked the lever and nothing came out. “It’s broken. Okay!”
He calmed down. Not sure why he understood broken, but he did, and I got him out of there with more lies about how I was going to take him back another day and get him the monkey.
Yeah, like that ever happened.
After the first lie, it seemed to get easier. I told my kids I had no money to buy toys. They grew up thinking we were dirt poor and proudly told everyone at Target they couldn’t get anything because we had NO money. Stores and restaurants were always closed when they wanted to go. Cartoons stopped playing at five pm. Then my lies got bigger and more creative, especially when I was trying to teach them a lesson. Not brushing their teeth caused painful needles by the dentist to be stuck in their mouth. Not bathing got you sick and caused painful needles to be administered by the doctor. Yeah, painful needles were quite handily used in my household for all sorts of things.
I traveled to many conferences and would try and bring my kids back trinkets, until I decided I was wasting way too much money. So then I’d go to states and tell them those places had no toys for children to play with, and that they played with rocks outside. My son still thinks Texas is a sad, barren place where no children should live.
I know. Judge me. But sometimes, it’s just easier. And the kids get me back anyway. I remember the first time my son lied to me. I was shocked beyond measure, looking into his innocent face as he said he ate his sandwich, and could he please now have dessert? And I gave him cookies with a smile, and watched my dog attack the garbage can and uncover an entire uneaten pb&j that my son had stuffed to the bottom in an effort to get his dessert.
It was as if he turned a corner, learning that some lies may be worth it. Of course, I punished him, had the TALK about how bad lying was, and felt a bit guilty for my own actions.
But just a little. Listen, motherhood is hard, and sometimes I need to fight dirty. If Texas has no toys for children, well, that’s just the way it is. And if painful needles helps me get them to brush their teeth and bathe and wash their hands, well, I don’t really care.
I know my time is lessening. Already, my oldest son rolls his eyes at some of my statements, challenging me vocally that he knows the truth. I’m going to have to man up for some hard truths of my own that will break my heart, finally confessing there is no Santa Clause or Easter Bunny or Tooth Fairy. And I think that will be my punishment, knowing my child’s innocence is fading, and he’s not apt to believe the easy lies anymore. Things get more complicated.
But until then, I’ll keep attending these meetings for other moms who proudly proclaim they do the best they can, and sometimes a big fat lie is the best way to go.
