Today after Lu's dentist appointment we went to Chic-fil-A. I was talking to the lady at the table next to me while my children covered themselves in sundry Chic-fil-A sauces. We were talking about potty training, and she asked me when Lucy was trained.
Ah, my quick thinking really helps out in a pinch.
"Well, she just wasn't ready until age 3, so I didn't push it until that point. And then, one day she just decided to go on her own! It was like she just chose to start going on the toilet and it happened! And we all went out to dinner and then a guy in a Bob the Builder costume came over and fashioned a toilet made entirely of fruit snacks in her bedroom!"
I left out the part where I punished her for peeing right next to the crib when she was 2. I still feel like a horrible monster for doing that, when months later we learned she didn't have any control. No wonder she cried and cried.
Anyway, I hate questions like that...or ones like, "What's that thing under her shirt?"
"Oh, actually, it's a flask full of vodka. Sometimes, when my mom picks me up from preschool, she partakes before we drive home."
At the very least, let's make the lies exciting.