With my kids I’ve always dug in on the fact you’re better off telling the truth and taking a hit, rather than lying to get out of something awkward.
Wish I’d taken my own advice.
With the fine specimens of myself and Tracey to study, it is widely acknowledged in this house how women are superior to men in almost every aspect. Women can produce babies. Women can remember appointments. Women can put a spring in the step of their mate with the mere flashing of boobs.
But that said, there is one thing men can do much more easily than women.
“I’m first!” yelled Miss8, dashing from the car and into the house.
“No! I need to go!” cried Miss14, following hot on her heels.
Before I’d even locked the car and shut the gate I could hear two or three kids bashing on the bathroom door inside the house and demanding their little sister be quick.
This is the problem with a seven person household in a one loo house.
Well, it’s a problem for the girls.
“Where are you going?” Miss11 demanded as I tried to disappear into the depths of the backyard using my phone as a torch.
Rather than come straight out and say, I explained I wanted to check on the citrus tree.
Her eyes narrowed.
“You’re gonna pee, aren’t you.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Never you mind,” I told her. “Go inside.”
A few more steps into the yard I’d turned my phone off and was starting to undo my zip when a shadow over my shoulder startled me and I shot around.
Miss11, hands on hips, was staring angrily at me.
It was like being ambushed by a child of the corn.
“FFS, do you mind! And don’t sneak up on me like that,” I said.
Turning on my phone again, I stomped further into the yard, around behind our big bus-home. But she followed me, raging all the way which in a manner I felt sure would alert any awake neighbours to my mission.
“Please,” she screeched, “tell me you had to do something on your phone and you were joking about peeing.”
“Go inside!” I told her, pointing up towards the house. “If it makes you feel better I can assure you I’m not going to the loo.”
I could assure her, but that would be a lie. As I was only enquiring if assuring her would make her feel better, I felt a sneaky pride this statement wasn’t actually a furphy.
I really need to consider politics.
Huffing, she turned and marched off.
This time I took the precaution of checking I was definitely alone before getting on with things.
A minute later, feeling much lighter and less bursty, I re-zipped and came around the end of the bus.
Miss11 was there, again with hands on hips and glaring at me.
“What did you just do if you weren’t peeing?” she demanded.
I sighed. Tell the truth and I’d never hear the end of it all night. The moment we were back in the house she’d round up a mob and there’d be a lynching.
A small lie and I could sweep this under the mat and get on with our night without the whole house erupting at me in disgust.
Oh, how wrong I was about that.
“I had to take a photo and send it to a mate,” I lied, thinking that would be the end of it.
I realise, in hindsight, the fact she’d caught me in the act of undoing my fly a few minutes earlier did sort of lend itself to creating the misinterpretation which followed.
“A photo?!” she asked loudly.
“Of that!?” she added, glancing down at the front of my jeans.
Before I had any chance to respond she was up at the house.
“Mum!” she screamed as she raced inside. “Dad’s sending dick pics to his mates!!”
Raising a family on little more than laughs
This post is not sponsored but we appreciate when our readers check one out. Our latest sponsored post is for the Outdoor Classrooms initiative. It’s definitely worth a gander