To Tell the Truth

Last night my visiting teacher came over. I had purposely made the appointment for late in the evening hoping that Peter would be asleep. No such luck. I thought he had nodded off because I hadn't heard ANYTHING from his room for an hour. When I put Cooper down and went to make sure my house was presentable before the appointment I looked into Peter's room. I think he might have been right on the verge of sleep, but my intrusion pulled him back into a fully conscious state. I told him that my visiting teacher would be there any minute, so I was going to pull his door closed so we wouldn't bother him. His room is between the kitchen and the family room (not an ideal location for a boy who has trouble sleeping anyway) so he heard when she arrived. He kept calling out from his room. "Mommy, are you on the rocking chair?" "Mommy, is your visiting teacher sitting on the couch?" "Mommy, what is she saying now?" I finally went in and got him. He got to sit with me in the rocking chair for the visit. My VT asked Peter how old he was.

VT: How old are you Peter?
Peter: I'm 4.
Me: What? No you're not. How old are you really?
Peter: I'm 5.
Me: Peter! How old are you?
Peter: I'm 12.

He thought this was terribly funny. To be honest, so did I. It reminds a little bit of my brother Ian. He tells funny, funny stories. Once when he was telling a particularly tall-tale I stopped him, asking if it was true. He exhaled, cocked his head to one side, and said, "Margot, sometimes I say things that aren't true. That doesn't mean it's a lie. It's just not true." Hmm... I think I may be using a different definition of true. Anyway, I still tease him about this. (Which is probably what I'm doing right now.) Maybe that whole spinning-of-yarns thing is genetic.

I'll have to go ask my 12-year-old about it.