Tattle Tales

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There are definitely pros and cons to having a tattle tale in the house.

I wouldn’t let a soul other than my own mother or sister babysit my oldest until he was old enough to tattle. My feeling is, who needs a nanny-cam when you have a four year old?

Yes, Luke is, for the moment, our resident tattle tale. He’s happy to run endless reconnaissance missions for me at no extra charge. Just the sheer satisfaction that comes from busting is enough.

“Mom, Dean is eating food on the carpet!”
“Mom, Andy is not sharing!”
“Mom, Kate’s not cleaning up!”
“Mom, Dad’s wrestling too rough!”

He likes to make detailed lists of other’s infractions, but when it comes to his own domestic misdemeanors, his recall gets very creative.

“I didn’t bite him! I was scratching him with my teeth!”
“I didn’t kick him! My boot did!”

He should go into law.

Luke also has lots of “friends” (who apparently live abroad) that get into loads of trouble, scrapes, and brushes with death, so he, by comparison looks like veritable angel. When I ask specifics about these “friends,” the facts, once again, get vague…

“Oh, you don’t know him, Mom. He lives in the forests of India.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize you traveled so much. When did you go to India?” I press.

“You don’t remember because I was just a little baby,” he responds matter-of-factly.

I see. Okay, I’ll go along with your little charade, just so long as you tell me who it is that made that mess in the bathroom, who ate the last of the cookies I was saving for Dad, and who on earth is the culprit that keeps forgetting to flush!

And don’t tell me it’s your friend from the forests of India.

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