The whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

The best part of  pureeing zucchini and fresh tomatoes to add to the spaghetti sauce so that the kids will unknowingly eat the vegetables that they profess to hate is not the content feeling that they are getting the nutrients they need, but the victorious satisfaction of having duped them.  And with that, I begin to wonder at all the lies we tell our children.  


I have been told that as a young child, my parents would sometimes rouse us kids in the middle of the night, tell us that Santa Claus had come, and then watch in amusement as we stumbled from our beds, half asleep, and headed for the living room to see what treasures the jolly fellow had left us.  It was not Christmas.  It was not even December.  I will admit to having tried that with my own kids just to see what was so hilarious, but my kids sleep like death, so I will forever have to wonder what it's like to snicker at that little joke.


Most of the lies I tell my children are not for my own amusement, but for their own happiness and well-being.  (Take that Mom and Dad!)  For instance, I told my oldest boys that kissing a girl before they were sixteen would turn their lips and tongues green so that everyone would know what they had done.  That one didn't work for as long as I hoped it would.  I've told them that Mt. Dew and energy drinks of all kinds taste like liquid garbage and that they hurt my stomach and will likely hurt theirs too, if ever they should be foolish enough to try one.  (Not so much a lie, that one.)  When Ethan was on a health food kick and asked me if hot dogs were good for you, I answered that they were indeed a member of the protein food group and would help him grow strong muscles.  It was the beginning of the summer, aka barbecue season, and we had many hot dogs in our future at that point - I didn't want the kid to starve.  When the kids do their daily reading, twenty minutes are required.  So far, neither of them has decided to time themselves, and inevitably they ask me how long it's been when they have read for about fifteen minutes.  I tell them it's been seven, and then they read for another ten minutes or so and ask me how much longer they have to go, and I tell them five more minutes, and then I cut them loose.  That way, they read for thirty minutes, but don't know it.  One day they'll wise up and check the clock for themselves.  Until then, I see no harm in this little tweak of the truth.  I once got 40 minutes out of Cameron, but I think that was stretching it too far.  He asked me if he had to read the next day since he read for so long on that day.  His perception of time must be sharpening into something fairly accurate. 


With Christmas approaching, I can't help but wonder how much longer Cameron will still experience the thrill and mysterious excitement of Santa Claus.  Will this year be the year that he discovers the biggest lie of all?  He's eight and a half, and I know it's coming.  If not this Christmas, then probably next.  These years of innocence disappear all too quickly.  The first Christmas that Cameron realizes that it's always been Mom and Dad leaving the presents under the tree will be the first time that I will feel like I betrayed him with my lies.  I will feel like I set him up.  Christmas with a Santa is like a ball of excitement and magical wonder and joy fusing together in the pit of your stomach and then bouncing around your insides for a solid month, growing larger with every nibble of sugar cookie, every carol sung on the radio and every light strung on the tree until it becomes so large that on Christmas Eve, it explodes from your body in a shower of squeals and giggles and then burns all around you until it's light becomes exhausting and you finally fall asleep wondering if you just heard reindeer hooves thumping lightly on the snow-covered roof.  Christmas with no Santa is just good food and presents.  I will be so sad for Cameron when that day comes. 


And when he does find out the truth, I will put that guilt aside, replace one lie with another, and tell him that if he blabs to one of his brothers, then I will let him open all of his presents on Christmas morning just so he can see what might have been his, and then I will take the whole lot down to a homeless shelter in Salt Lake City and make him watch me as I give every last present to the little children who got nothing, and then won't he be sorry that he told?  Whereas, if he keeps his mouth shut, I will only make him choose one present to take to the shelter.