We’re not quite to the level of “the dog ate my homework” yet, but my 5 year old twins have suddenly mastered the art of blaming inanimate objects for their misbehavior.
To wit:
- Someone drew on the wall in the playroom, and when questioned, I was informed that it was probably SuperPuppy (a stuffed dog with a giant red bow and a definite lack of opposable thumbs).
- Someone covered portions of the walls in both of their bedrooms with a menagerie of animal stickers (they call them their “zoos”). On inquiry, I was told it was the fault of Blue Dog (a stuffed blue dog) and Ellie (a pink stuffed elephant).
- Someone blew up the playroom. It literally looked like the aftermath of a tornado, except with intact walls and windows. I was informed this was likely the fault of a large purple manatee and an oversized frog.
- Grant’s new green shirt sprouted holes all over the front. Holes in suspiciously straight lines. The kind you might get from bear claws, or, say, safety scissors. He told me that a monster probably did it.
Perhaps anyone with a five year old can relate to this. Or maybe it’s just me. Obviously my kids think highly of my intellect.
The other day the kids were throwing things around the living room, and as I watched a small turtle hurtle past our flat-screen, I’d had it. I announced that this behavior was unacceptable.
Naturally, they told me they weren’t doing it. It was the animals.
So I said, “Fine. If you’re going to blame things on your stuffed animals, or if your animals are so poorly behaved, the next time they do something bad that you know they’re not supposed to do, I’m taking them away. You got that?”
I got a chorus of sheepish, “Yes, ma’am’s,” and they went upstairs, ostensibly to clean the playroom. Personally, I think it’s where they keep their maps, battle plans, and small arms.
Anyway, this weekend we ended up at the pediatrician’s office for the inaugural visit of 2012. I sent the twins on to the sick waiting room while I checked in.
Now, the waiting room’s chief attraction is a ginormous fish tank. It’s been there since they were infants. And since that time, I’ve told them over and over that they are not allowed to touch the aquarium glass or make loud noises, because it can make the fish very sick. They’ve always been good about this, but I make sure to remind them, because it’s so tempting to touch the glass.
Before they went into the waiting room, I reminded them not to touch the fish tank.
While I was checking in, I took a few steps over to the side, looked into the waiting room, and reminded them again, not to touch the fish tank.
And then collected my receipt and check in sheet, walked into the waiting room, and found my two darlings standing on chairs, beating the side of the fish tank with Blue Dog and Ellie.
If that weren’t bad enough, they weren’t alone in the waiting room. There was an immaculately dressed and coiffed woman sitting in the far corner with her ridiculously obedient child, staring at me, as if I were THAT mother. You know, the one who has absolutely no control over her children whatsoever? The one who wears baggy jeans, clogs, a fleece, and no makeup to the pediatrician’s office on a Sunday morning? The one whose head explodes when she finds her offspring misbehaving when she should have been with them in the first place, the one who frog marches them over to the nearest couch, tells them to sit, and then in a very low voice, tells them something horrible enough to make them both start screaming and crying in a manner you would expect from, say, a two year old?
Yes, THAT mother. Um, that would be me.
My head exploded because when I got into the room and said, “What on earth are you doing? I told you not to touch the fish tank!!!” the kids both replied that they hadn’t done it, Blue Dog and Polar Bear had.
So I sat them down and told them that Blue Dog and Polar Bear were now mine. Gone. Perhaps forever.
::Cue tantrums of the massive variety::
When we got home, Grant said, “But I can still play with Christmas (another stuffed dog) and SuperPuppy, right?”
I said, “Wait a minute. They were in your backpack at the doctor’s office with Blue Dog, weren’t they?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Then no.”
::cue wailing::
“Give them here. They were co-conspirators. Guilty by association.”
“But Mommy!!! They didn’t really do it! I did it!”
“Yes, Grant, I know. But I told you the next time you blamed something on your stuffed animals you were going to lose them. So hand them over.”
::much wailing::
Anne decided to weigh in. “Mommy, here’s Polar Bear. I don’t mind if you take her. I don’t really like to cuddle with her anyway.”
“Ok, then, go grab your manatee.”
She trotted off and came back with her favorite toy, a giant purple manatee.
“You like cuddling with Flipper, right?”
“Yes, she’s my favorite!”
“Hand her over. She’s mine.”
::dual wailing::
“But Mommy!”
That night, Flipper the manatee, Polar Bear, Blue Dog and his associates all spent the evening in a trash bag in the laundry room. We told the kids that if there were any more incidents where they blamed something else for their actions, that the bag would go in the trash can.
After a night and day of good behavior, Mark relented and gave the animals back. (Personally, I would have left them in the joint for a week or so.)
Outcome: so far, so good. I’ll keep you posted.
Oh my! But what a way to combat it. I wish I had thought of taking the inanimate objects my kids blamed for doing who knows what on any given day. Of course, the oldest was always blaming his imaginary friend. It's definitely a stage of life and a process to combat. Usually, we parents emerge victorious. My now 10 yr old son has finally learned to tell the truth rather than fib or out right lie. When asked why, cause you know we parents need to know, he told me that he was tired of getting in trouble for fibbing or lying. Parent Score 3 Kids Score Maybe slighlty more than 3. 😉
It's so hard to figure out a way to outwit them, isn't it?
By the way, we're good on the blaming thing for the last couple of days. There was one incident Grant blamed on a stuffed tiger, but the minute he saw my face, he recanted and took the blame–most eagerly and sincerely.
Here's hoping that lesson stays learned!