Apparently I Don’t Have Eyes

My twelve-year-old will lie directly to my face about something I am actively watching her do. And I genuinely do not understand the plan.

This has been going on basically her entire life.

When she was about five, I made the rookie mistake of taking a shower while my children were awake. I came back and almost an entire brand-new tub of chocolate ice cream was gone.

She left maybe 1/12th of it.

So that was nice of her.

I asked if she ate the ice cream.

“No.”

There was chocolate ALL OVER HER FACE.

Girl.

Who do you think did it then?

Because unless somebody broke into this house, ate almost an entire tub of ice cream, rubbed some on your face, and then quietly left, I think we both know what happened here.

She denied it anyway.

And seven years later, we have made absolutely no progress.

We have a rule that there’s no food in the bedrooms. Nothing crazy. I have four kids. I’m not interested in finding a fossilized chicken nugget under somebody’s bed six months from now.

She does not care about this rule.

She will sneak food upstairs anyway, and she is not subtle about it. She’ll put things under her shirt. She’ll hide things behind her back. And somehow she seems to think that as long as I cannot physically see the food, I also cannot see HER acting like an absolute weirdo.

Recently, I was sitting on the couch when she came flying through the living room.

Our downstairs is open concept. I can see the living room, the kitchen, and the dining room. There is nowhere to sneak.

And here comes my child practically sprinting past me with one arm twisted all the way behind her back.

“What are you hiding?”

She froze. Full deer in the headlights.

“Nothing.”

Ma’am.

You look like you dislocated your arm. You’re hiding something.

“Nothing.”

IT WAS A BREAD ROLL.

A bread roll.

This child twisted her entire arm behind her body and made a run for it over some bread.

And honestly, the sneaking isn’t even the part that gets me. It’s the commitment afterward.

There is no, “Okay, you got me.”

Nope.

She will go down with the ship.

I can be looking directly at the thing she is hiding.

“Are you hiding food?”

“No.”

“I can see it.”

“No.”

WHAT DO YOU MEAN, NO?

At some point I don’t even know what we’re arguing about anymore. I was there. You were there. The bread was there. We all know what happened.

But she’s sticking with her story.

Fine.

“JOSHUA THE THIRD?!”

I don’t even want her to get better at lying. That seems like a terrible thing to wish for as a parent.

I just need her to understand that hiding something behind your back does not make the entire rest of your body invisible.

And if you’re going to lie directly to my face, maybe check mine first to make sure I don’t have functioning eyeballs.

Which I do.

Usually.

And somehow, I’m responsible for this person.