So, apparently I am a little passive aggressive.
My 13 year old daughter has some unique fashion choices, which I love. But recently a pair of her jeans became so ripped and torn that I did not want her to wear them any longer. Not to they were EXTREMELY small. I wanted them gone. I lovingly suggested that she remove the offending pants from her wardrobe. They kept resurfacing from the sea of clothing surrounding the island of her bed.
I again came across the raggedy blue jeans the other day. I examined them, and still found them lacking any saving qualities. So I threw them behind the dryer. No one ever looks there.
Yesterday Kiley asked if anyone had seen them. I kept silent. She looked me in the eye and questioned, "Mom, do you know where my pants are? The ones you hate?"
"Nope, I haven't seen them," I lied. I LIED!! I lied to my daughter.
I won't say I had a crisis of conscience but I will say that I was troubled. How could I lie to her? It was easier, I must say, than having an emotion wrought conversation about why the jeans were no longer welcome in our home. The only thing I could think was this is how it begins: hiding the truth from my kids so that I avoid their (insert any emotion here). If I had a problem telling my daughter I didn't want her wearing a certain pair of jeans where would I stop?
This morning I knew that I had to come clean with the dirty jeans situation. I called Kiley in and told her that I lied about the jeans. I told her that I knew where they were. I told her that I didn't ever want to see them on her body again and that I would be willing to cut the back pocket off for a sentimental keepsake.
"What? Where are they? I KNEW you had done something with them!" She was kind of giggling, though.
And now she's moved on. Plotting a room rearrangement with her sister. Jeans all but forgotten. Truth told, battle won.
Thank goodness. I thought she was going to ask if I had been lying about babies being born in cabbage patches.