Little White Lies…


July 9, 2011 by Kim

I came to a horrible realization yesterday.

The more I thought about it, the more game-changing it became.

It all started in the pantry…

I was rooting around in a bag of cookies, eating more than I probably should have.

As I took my final stack o’ Chips Ahoy to the computer desk, I noticed that the bag was far too empty for my liking…  The chance of Hubs noticing the excessive drop in the cookie count was high. One thing was for sure… I did NOT want to admit to gorging on the Chips Ahoy if confronted.

A couple of years ago, this would have been a non-issue.  If Hubs had inquired about the massive number of missing cookies, I’d simply point at one of the kids.  Usually the youngest. The one who hadn’t mastered the English language, quite yet and would be unable to defend themselves.  I got extremely lucky with Dickie, in regards to his speech impairment, and managed to pull a couple of extra years out of him.

But, alas… the boys are now 12.9, 10 and 6….and will rat me out in a heartbeat.             Game Over, Kim.  Game Over.

As I take this moment to mourn the loss of my scapegoats… I am reminded of many a fond moment where I was able to push the blame elsewhere…

Excessive eating… check

Passing gas… check

Breaking things…. check

Staining the laundry… check

Losing important paperwork… check

So, today is a sad day, indeed… being that Hubs and I are unable to have anymore babies, I figure that it’s time to step up my game and attempt to control myself.  I may even have to start admitting to my own wrongdoings…

…. or maybe we could adopt

…or I could blame everything on The Beast




6 thoughts on “Little White Lies…

  1. You could easily claim the house to be haunted.

  2. My kids have also reached an age where they can articulately explain Dad has been blaming them for things they didn’t do for years and years.

  3. If you don’t have one already, buy a dog, and then get into the habit of absent-mindedly leaving food low enough for him to reach: Coffee table, end tables, low area of kitchen counter, table. You can blame eating, breaking things, gas, all sorts of things on it. I know, I have a ninety-plus pound Pitbull. Sweeeeet!!!

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