I thought my daughter would hit that age sooner. You know that age, the one were you have to be careful what you say, lest she repeat it. I almost thought we had skipped that stage altogether, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. Luckily, she’s not outing me on things I have said. She speaks plenty of honesty sans filter on her own dime. As a rule though, I try really hard not to say things I will regret – people in glass houses and such. So given the lack of things one shouldn’t repeat, my daughter has honed her senses on other things, like new purchases. Like when I got a new phone case, she immediately clued in before she sat down in the car. I didn’t try to pass it off as an “old purchase”, that certainly never did me any favors in the past. “What this old thing? I’ve had this FOREVER. Not new at all. I know, weird.”
It doesn’t really matter though. She’s incredibly observant to new and shiny objects and is not easily fooled. The best part is that my daughter outs me every time the second my husband walks through the door in the evening. “Mom got a new phone case. Mom got a Starbucks. Mom got some boxes from Amazon today. Mom got me a new dress.” Geez, kid. You make it seem like I’m trying to hide something. Of course, they are just statements of fact, but no one is safe with this little whistleblower around. However, lest I encourage lying and secrets, I go with it. It’s not like I need to hide purchases, been there, done that, didn’t turn out so well.
The other morning my daughter launched into one of her truth-telling moments.
Daughter: Mom, my earring fell in the toilet last night.
Daughter: But daddy got it out.
Me: Awesome (Sometimes, one word answers is all I can muster in the morning)
Daughter: (Not done with her story, of course) I had pee peed and my earring fell in the toilet.
Me: EEEEEWWWWW (as I turn to face my husband) and your daddy stuck his hand in the toilet to get your earring out? Wow, that’s pretty amazing.
Daughter: Noooo, we got a spoon and got it out.
Wait, what? Yep, a slotted spoon was used to fish out the earring. My husband’s response; what, I soaked it in bleach after?
I can’t blame him, I wouldn’t have wanted to be elbow deep in pee pee water. The very thought makes me cringe. So slotted spoon it is. But bleach notwithstanding, I can never unlearn that particular truth. I tried to picture using that spoon again as I’m serving dinner. It just cannot happen. Bye Bye spoon. Let this be a lesson: ignorance is bliss, people and honesty kills slotted spoons.