Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Well, It Had to Happen Sometime

My daughter just told her first lie. Not the kind of "maybe she doesn't understand what I'm asking" toddler falsehood, but the type of devious, pass-the-buck, "I am totally not telling you the truth" out-and-out big kid fib. I should probably be a bit concerned about where this could lead, however, for the moment I am too busy being delighted, because she used her first blatant brush with mendacity to blame a fart on her father.

We were sitting in bed, reading books, when she passed gas. Now, for those of you who don't spend a lot of time around small children, toddler farts are pretty funny because they are not scaled to size. In other words, totally adult-sounding farts issue forth from cute baby buttcheeks that look like they were made by the same folks who design cupcakes and clouds, and the disconnect is fairly hilarious.

So she ripped this huge fart, and when I asked her "Did you toot?" - again, for those of you who don't spend much time around young children, most conversations with them involves various permutations of stating, questioning, and re-stating the obvious - instead of grinning and nodding and throwing her arms up in a victory gesture like a gymnast who has just completed a very difficult vault, which is her usual response to passing gas, she looked at me with an inscrutable expression and immediately said "no" in the sort of cool, collected tone one might associate with psychopaths or serial killers.

I hadn't been expecting this, since usually she tells the truth about everything - even things that make her look bad or that she knows she shouldn't do - like eating crayons or biting her friends. "No?" I asked her. "Well, then who tooted?" Without missing a beat, she squealed, "Daddy!" When I pointed out that Daddy wasn't at home and asked again who tooted, she yelled "Mommy!" I'm pretty sure if I had kept at it, she would have blithely blamed everyone from her best friend "Bubba" to her stuffed pig "Piggles" to the mailman "Meh Meh." 

We are a gaseous bunch, my family, and we usually own up to our toots. But still, this is the kind of buck passing brilliance that makes me momentarily proud to be her mother. At least she didn't think to blame me first. And I have about a decade or so, I hope, to worry about whether or not this is a skill to be worried about.

So for the moment all I can say is well played, my little liar. Well played. 


  1. We had to TEACH obi the "it wasn't me" game! Go girl!

  2. Simon knows our distinctive tones: "Mama's butt!" "Daddy's butt!"