The Blame Game
I hear all kinds of entertaining tales from my four-year-old twins, and most of them are not even true.
At this age, they are masters of creative storytelling. They try to see what they can pull over on Mommy, and they like to make sure that someone else is to blame for any deed Mommy doesn’t like. This week I heard the most inventive fib yet.
Eli had a quick virus over the weekend. He woke up with a fever of 102 Saturday night. I gave him Tylenol and a small cup of watered down apple juice before tucking him back in bed.
Around 1 a.m., he woke up again balling his eyes out. I jumped out of my bed and sprinted to his room not knowing what I would encounter. There, he sat in his bed crying with his eyes still closed like he was asleep.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
He stopped sobbing long enough to make one coherent sentence. “Mommy, I think Mila came into my room while I was sleeping and pee peed in my bed.”
Hilarious! The kid is half asleep, and he’s blaming his sister, who was peacefully sleeping down the hall, for wetting his bed. I have to marvel at anyone who could make up such an imaginative lie on the fly. It also makes me nervous. Imagine the tales Eli might be able to put together with full, waking brain power. I might be in trouble.