Mom Hell

I’m going there. If there’s a Mom Hell, I’ll probably have a leadership position (resident CPA, perhaps?).

I teach Oliver wrong things. Not the kinds of things that could seriously damage him or anything–like, skipping letters in the alphabet, or that purple is blue and stuff. No, I teach him other stuff.

Me: Oliver, how old are you?
Oliver: I’m two.
Me: You’re two and a half!
Oliver: I’m two.
Me: OK. How old is Mommy?
Oliver: Mommy’s two.
Me: Mommy’s 26. How old is Daddy?
Oliver: Daddy’s 26 too. [he’s not]
Me: No, sweetie. Daddy is 42.
Oliver: (mischeviously) Daddy’s 26.
Me: (laughing) No!! No!! Daddy’s 177!!
Oliver: Daddy’s 26.

So, on reflection, maybe I don’t teach him wrong stuff. He just ignores my blatant lies. Beh.