My kids were pretty good at hiding stuff from their mother. Jenny, for example, used to climb out her second-story bedroom window onto the gable roof. She'd just sit there, she says. It was her fort or space or whatever. I was just informed of this a couple of months ago. She started this practice when she was 10; she's now 30. That's 20 years in the dark.
At the age of 12 Andrea hid a can of beer in her backpack on her way to a waterpark. Her friend was bringing the lemon juice to mix with the beer to use as a hair bleach. If her little brother hadn't ratted on her, man, that coulda been an interesting day.
Speaking of little brother. When John was 5, he shimmied up an aluminum street lamp. To the very top! I missed that one, too. The neighbor lady didn't. Well, it wasn't entirely his fault. His older sister, daredevil Jenny, had preceded him up the pole. It simply had been his turn.
Of course these are but a fraction of the things my kids tried to hide from me. Lies of omission. They were good at it, too. I say that with a certain amount of pride because I believe too much transparency between child and parent is unhealthy. My kids lied to protect their mom. They understood, even at such a young age, the aggravation their actions induced. They lived by that motto, "What mom doesn't know won't hurt her." I call that thoughtful. Which is why I may find myself needing to return the favor.
This weekend I am the sole guardian of two of my grandchildren, ages 3 and 5. I am wondering what kind of adventure we could have and how much information about said adventure will need to be kept from the parents.
How does that song from the Lying King go?
Till we find our place
On the path unwinding
In the Circle
The Circle of (crashing drums) Lies
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