I have to be completely honest with you: This blog post makes me want to cry. In fact, as I uploaded the pictures for this post and looked back at that face Lily gave me… it choked me up.

However, thankfully, I have the foresight to know that someday this will be knee-slappingly hilarious to me, and I know that you guys will find it funny, so I can’t not post it.

Last week, while Colby was at VBS, I tried thinking up fun little things for Lily and I to do together. Since his VBS time fell exactly during the babies’ nap time, it seemed like the perfect opportunity for some good ‘ole Lily and Mommy time. One day we blew bubbles. Another day she made me coffee (what? It’s her favorite thing to do… oddly enough, mine too) and we took a bubble bath together.

I found myself running short on ideas when Friday rolled around, but decided to go with my always on standby, back-up plan:

Homemade Cookies.

I pull this out on a rare occasion for a few reasons: First, it’s messy. Second, it means I have to possess insane amounts of patience to not freak out at spills, messes, and ingredient taste-testing. Third, we simply don’t need cookies in our house.

When I suggested the idea, Lily was elated. She didn’t bat an eye when I dropped Colby off, or make a single whimper because she didn’t get to go. Instead, she looked at me, wide-eyed and squealed, “We make cookies, Mommy!”

At home, we cleaned up the kitchen and washed hands. I handed her the recipe. She pulled out all of the ingredients we needed as I mentioned them. She was being an amazing helper and listening so well. The only time I had to give her a stern mommy look was when she grabbed a handful of uncooked oatmeal and shoved it in her mouth, dropping oats all over the floor. I breathed a sigh of relief and gave myself a mental pat on the back for being such a stellar mom and acting patient, yet stern.

I had decided that No-Bake Cookies were going to be the quickest, least messy option. She helped me put ingredients into the pot and I stirred while the ingredients boiled. I had my back turned for a tenth of a second.

Meanwhile, Lily had climbed up to where our coffee maker was, opened the top, grabbed out a handful of spent coffee grounds, and shoved it in her mouth. Did I mention this was merely minutes after she had been warned about grabbing the oatmeal from the measuring cup?

“Lil.Lee. Grr.Ace!” I yelled.

She started and looked up at me, coffee grounds surrounding her mouth and coating her hand.

“What are you doing?!” I yelled again (I hate yelling, yet sometimes, I can’t help but yell).

I grabbed a wet paper towel and cleaned her off, spurting frustrated half-sentences.

“Why do you-”

“What were you-”

“You know better-”

and finally, “Ugh! Just get in the corner, now!”

She cried and sat in time out. After her time was served, I knelt down and asked why she was there.

“A cuuzzz… I eat da coffee,” she stated.

“Yes, exactly, because you ate the coffee. Lily, I asked you not to stick your hands in the oatmeal, and then you went and did the same thing with the coffee. You cannot do that! You’re not listening to Mommy and that frustrates me,” I replied.

She apologized. All was well.

We continued on with our cooking. From the moment she had seen the cocoa powder at the beginning, she was giddy to pour it in to the pot. I had it all measured out for her and she did a fantastic job of putting it in the pot and stirring. I told her as much.

“Okay, baby,” I said. “Mommy has to go to the pantry to get some wax paper, I’ll be right back.”

She was at the stove stirring. (The burner was off and locked, of course.)

I was gone for maybe a second.

I came back, and saw this:

“Lily,” I sighed. This time, I had decided, I wasn’t going to loose my cool and yell.

“Wah, Mommy?” she asked, innocently.

“Lily, did you get into the chocolate?”

“Chwaaackkk-wet?” she asked.

“Yes, Lily. Chocolate. Did you eat the chocolate?”

“No,” she said.

“Lily Grace, do not lie to me,” I said sternly. “Please tell me the truth.”

I lifted the cocoa powder container that was open and spilled all over the floor, obviously on her face, and also her fingers.

“Tell me that you ate this. I know you did. Just say, ‘Yes, Mommy, I ate the chocolate.”

“I no eat chwaahk-et,” she asserted, pointing to the container. “I not eat dat.”

“Please, Lily,” I begged. “Did you eat this?”

I pointed to the pot of cookie “dough.”

“No. I eat nuff-ing.”

“Lily, tell me the truth. I know you ate the chocolate.”

Then, she gave me this face. This is the face that makes me want to cry. This is her total caught-in-a-lie face:

She was adamant, but unconvincing, that she was innocent.

I put her in timeout. I finished the cookies by myself and put them out on the wax paper while she sat in the corner, quieter than I’ve ever heard her… even in sleep.

I went over,  knelt down, and asked why she was in trouble.

“A cuuuuzz… I not eat chwaaak-et.”

I sighed.

“You mean, you ate the chwak- I mean, chocolate and you shouldn’t have?”

“No.  I. No. Eat. Chwaaak-et!”

I put her back up on the chair, back to the scene of the crime (this was when I took these pictures). I repeated the questions. She replied the same way. I even turned my camera around to show her the chocolate smeared on her face and told her I knew she ate the chocolate. Still, she insisted that she didn’t do it.

I put her back in timeout.

Finally, she broke… sort of. With a lot of coaxing, she hesitantly admitted that she ate the chocolate. I thanked her for her honesty and asked her to apologize for lying. She didn’t get a cookie for quite a while. They sat on the table within her reach and I told her that if she so much as touched one, she wouldn’t get anything. She obeyed.

Still, I’m sad. I’m sad that at 2.5, my daughter is lying to me. She lied again today when I found her sneaking a candy she had found. She insisted that she didn’t eat it. Her face and hands were sticky. There were remnants of the candy on the counter where she had stood. I made her repeat after me, “I ate the candy and I’m sorry.” She did. She said sorry. I let her off the hook.

Please tell me that if I handle this well now, that she’ll be less likely to lie when she gets older? It’s taking all of my effort not to visualize my daughter, now lying about eating candy or chocolate, later lying about other, more serious things.

(Dramatic, I know, but can you blame me?)

I love that little stinker girl, and all of her devious ways. I know that if we can work through things with her while she’s young and divert her devious, hard-headedness to something more acceptable, she’ll be an extremely successful adult. For right now, though, I feel lost in how to parent her.

If I’m being honest… she terrifies me. She makes me question absolutely everything I do as a parent and wonder if I’m even doing anything right with her.

My light at the end of this tunnel is showing her this post one day when she tells me her own child has her at her wit’s end and I can say, “It’s karma, baby. Karma.”