TO TELL THE TRUTH

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I am going to institute a new rule in my house. From now on, when you enter, you have to place your hand on a “Beauty and the Beast” DVD and say, “I do solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me Dora the Explorer.”

Some of you may think that I am suffering from delirium. Others of you have 3-year-olds are thinking it’s a pretty darn snazzy idea. You see, my daughter, Allie, is at the age where she is understanding consequences for her actions. And she is finding that, when the consequences involve such things as time out or revocation of Blue’s Clue viewing rights, she will try and avoid the negatives as much as possible. That’s a flowery way of saying she’s experimenting with what some call “lying like a rug.”

Now don’t get me wrong. It’s not that she’s malicious with her intents. She’s not bilking stockholders or anything. She is just experimenting with a liberal interpretation of what the correct answers to certain questions are.

I first noticed this trend a few weeks ago. We had some nice weather, and I decided to open the windows in the house. When I walked into the den, I noticed that all of the windows were closed. I asked Allie if she had closed the windows. “No, Parker did,” she said, nonchalantly glancing up from her puzzle.

“Allie,” I said, “are you sure?” She nodded. “Allie. Are you SURE?”

Again, a nod. I picked up Parker, who at the time was still crawling, and set him near the window. “Allie,” I said, opting for visuals, “Parker cannot reach the window. He can’t even stand up.” Seeing that I had her nailed, she confessed.

A few weeks later, my wife and I were reading Allie a book on the bed. My wife, settling in to her spot, suddenly jumped up and said, “EWWWWW! WHAT IS THAT!?!?!?!?!?!” Confident that my wife had rested her arm in a dead squirrel, I leapt into action. Inspecting the spot of concern, I realized that my wife had settled down on a pillow that was covered in a nice big pile of what I refer to as glop. For some reason, I made what could have been a most unwise move and leaned close and sniffed the glop. I was greeted with, fortunately, the soothing and relaxing scent of lavender. I looked on the ground and saw an empty bottle of baby lotion. “Allie...” I said.

Knowing she was the main culprit, she said, “Maggie did it.”

“Allie, are you sure Maggie did it?”

“Yes. I saw her.”

“Allie, Maggie is a dog.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Who never comes upstairs.”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure Maggie did it?”

“Uh...no. I did.”

And then she played the ultimate card that she has realized is money in the bank for sucker parents. She cocks her head to the side, makes a pouty face, says, “I’m soooooo-rrrrrrry,” and comes to hug you. I feel confident that, once the hug begins, her remorseful pout turns into a gleeful sneer.

The last doozy that she offered up came the other morning when she decided that jumping rope in the kitchen would be a good idea. I told her to stop, and she replied, “Mommy told me I had to practice here.”

Now, not only do I know my wife would never encourage jump roping in the kitchen, she is far from the type who would put her 3-year-old on a rigorous jump rope practice schedule. “Allie, I’ve known your mother a lot longer than you. Put the jump rope down.”

“I’m soooooo-rrrrrrry.” Commence to hugging.

I know that she is just checking out the boundaries. And I know that, even if her distract-them-with-a-hug technique may be manipulative, it’s hard to resist. Let’s be honest. It’s healthy for children to find out what the limits are, and it’s parents responsibility to guide them to the appropriate parameters. Furthermore, if a 3-year-old tries to give you a hug, you’ve gotta cave in, lest that come out big time in therapy in a few decades. I am sure this will pass. My wife and I will remain vigilant in our quest to teach her right from wrong. And while I know there may be trying times, I know we can get through. So help me Dora.