Kids really are the best. Or the worst, depending on your point of view.
They’re entertaining and unpredictable anyway, and always getting into trouble, whether or not they mean to.
Sometimes kids get caught out and their tiny little brains have to work super hard to process what’s happening.
They don’t want to be in trouble, but they think that the only way out of it is to explain what happened… well, their version of what happened.
Which is when they start to come out with some pretty outlandish tales.
Most of us have been there, with a kid standing in front of use, who’s excuse for eating all the cookies gets more and more elaborate until dinosaurs get involved.
Here are some of those tall tales that parents almost let their kids get away with… almost…
“I was making dinner and my 3-year-old let out a blood curdling scream, so I ran to the den where him and my 5-year-old daughter were playing.
He’s holding his leg so I pry his little fingers off and there’s a fresh set of teeth marks. I look at my daughter and ask what happened. In a straight face with a calm voice, ‘I was just laying here and bubba’s leg FELL into my open mouth, then he started crying’. I act shocked and told her that she must have ‘rock teeth’ and we better get her to the dentist right after dinner. Her eyes got huge, then I got the boy an ice pack and went on making dinner. We finish eating I tell her to grab her shoes and I get my keys.
It was about 2 seconds after I started the car when I got the truth, he wouldn’t give her the remote and started to run away so she tripped him and bit his leg. She got grounded from TV for a weekend.”
“I opened the kitchen trash can to find a perfectly functional stapler sitting at the top. I turned to my family in surprise and asked who put it there.
5-year-old: It wasn’t me.
Husband: I didn’t do it.
So, we all turn to look at my 3-year-old daughter, the only remaining suspect.
3-year-old: [after long pause] It was you. I saw you.”
“Not my kid, but my little sister.
When she was in maybe first grade our mom got a call from the school requesting a meeting.
She shows up and the teacher says, ‘I just wanted you to see this in person’. And with a look of disgust slaps down a piece of paper in front of her.
In my sister’s first grade hand writing was a note that read:
‘Please excuse sister von Manfred from doing her homework. I was not smart enough to help her.
“Me: your room is a mess! You are gonna have to clean it tomorrow.
My 4-year-old: yeah, I don’t know what happened.
Me: I know what happened, you didn’t put your toys back and messed up your room.
4-year-old (completely deadpan): there was a stranger in your house.”
“When my son was about 4, I spent a few weeks with him and his sister at a summer camp. We lived on the first floor of a dorm while we were there.
In his little mind, everyone else who lived there had better food than I was serving – to be fair, it’s hard to cook a good dinner for 3 in a dorm room. Anyway, I fed the kids and was preparing to leave for the evening, and lo and behold, my son was gone.
I went up and down all the halls, asking everyone where he was. I finally found him on the fourth floor, happily eating dinner with another family. They said he told them I had already left, and did not give him dinner before I ‘left’.
He had evidently gone from room to room, checking out what everyone was having, and then lying his way into the best of the lot.”
“My 3-year-old was sitting in front of the TV watching cartoons. I went up to put some laundry away and when I came back down he had no pants or trousers on. There was a little puddle of urine on the floor behind him and his underwear and trousers were on the floor in front of the washing machine.
I asked him who had urinated on the floor. He replied ‘it was daddy’.
When I said that daddy was at work, he told me that daddy had ‘came home, wee’d on the floor and then left again’.
‘In the few minutes that I’ve been upstairs?’
Shaking his head and rolling his eyes in disapproval, he said
“This happened back when I was 7, way back when answering machines existed.
My mom called and I didn’t feel like talking so I picked up the phone and said ‘hello, please leave your message at the beep. BEEP!’
I was totally convinced this would fool her.”
“I just told my husband the thread I was reading and his story is when he was a young kid on Christmas night he would take all the presents “Santa” brought him and put them in bed with him.
When his parents got up and asked him about it he would reply, ‘Santa put them there’.
And of course, they couldn’t fess up without admitting Santa wasn’t real to him and his two sisters.”
“When I asked 4-year-old why she was purring she said, ‘Daddy let me explain it to you. I have Cheetah in my DNA’.
She ran with the lie for weeks until we told her Cheetahs can’t eat ice cream or chocolate, she confessed to lying and how she would never lie again because it’s too stressful.”
“When my son was 6 he came home from school with a tear in his new pants.
I asked him what happened and he said he fell in the playground and ripped them. I said, ‘oh no, how is your knee?’ and he said, ‘it was sore but the bruise went away’. He was actually limping a little too. So I responded, ‘gee it looks to me like your pants were cut with a pair scissors’. He looked at me completely confused and said, ‘how did YOU know?’
Wild guess, not to mention it was a nice clean slice. I tried really hard not to laugh.”
“We were toilet training and my 3-year-old boy had accidentally wet the bed. He was clearly upset about it so I decided to give him an out.
Me: Oh no! Did I do wee in the bed?!
He jumped at the chance to blame me.
Kid: Yeah, it was you. You did wee in my pants…
“When my son was 5 I picked him up from school one day and he had a red slip with him. I went in to talk to the administrators and was privately informed he had bit another student.
So, on the drive home I asked him some probing questions like ‘how was your day?’ and ‘did anything interesting happen?’. Those were going nowhere. So I moved on to ‘did something happen to your friend Magnus?’. To which my son replied ‘oh yeah, he got bit, it was bad and bleeding’. The blood was an embellishment. I asked with a measure of concern ‘where was Magnus bitten?’. My son replied ‘on his cheek’. Then I asked ‘do you know who bit him?’ to which my son flatly replied, ‘Oh yeah, he just bit himself.’
I had to pull over laughing to hard to drive safely.”
“I don’t have any epic stories but this one is super cute. My oldest is only 3-years-old and but last week I walk into the room she was playing in and as soon as she sees me she looks up and says, ‘I don’t have poop!!’
She then continues walking around the room like she was riding a really small horse.”
“My 3-year-old was informed he needed to eat his eggs before getting crackers. He waited until he thought I was out of sight then yelled for the dog and fed them to her.
‘Did you feed the eggs to Maggie?’
‘No, I eat eggs’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes I eat eggs cracker now’
‘No crackers, you didn’t eat your eggs’
Cue 20 minute meltdown.”
“When I was around 7 I lost a tooth and put it under my pillow that night, awaiting my money from the tooth fairy. The next morning I wake up and to my horror there was no money and the tooth was still there.
I knew I had been a particularly bad kid lately and figured that had had something to do with it. I had to think fast because my parents would be pissed and want to know the reason why the tooth fairy didn’t visit me. So I rush to my piggy bank and pull out a wad of change and a dollar and proceed into the living room.
I walk in and drop it all on the table in front of them with a smug look on my face and say, “whew that tooth fairy sure was good to me last night!” The room fell silent. My parents have a worried look on their faces. They ask where the money came from. I say the tooth fairy. They ask again. I start sweating How could they know? What kind of wild magic is at work here between all of these higher beings and my parents.
I admit that it came from my piggy bank and I didn’t want them to be disappointed in me when they found out that I was too bad a kid for a visit from the fairy. My dad says, ‘The tooth fairy isn’t real son. And while we are on the subject neither is Santa Claus’.
My world was shattered.”
“My son was in the first grade when the Pokémon fad started up at school.
It didn’t take long for rivalries in class to begin, or the underground card trading ring. My son began encountering more and more trouble from these dealings (fighting, stealing, etc.) so we eventually had a meeting with his teacher and some school counsellors. The meeting essentially revolved around us making sure the cards stayed at home and the teachers keeping a close eye on the ‘Pokécommunity’.
Starting the next day, my wife began asking my son if he had cards and then checking his book bag and pockets. After checking him in person for all contraband… she ships him off to school. Literally thirty minutes later a phone call comes home and my son was caught trading cards at school. When confronted by the teacher on where he got the cards he told her that he hid them in his underwear before he left the house and was also bragging that the cards stuck to his junk.”
“I’m not a parent, but a babysitter. I used to look after 4 siblings and the little girl, age 6 (we’ll call her Debbie) came up to me one day with a balloon and asked me if I could blow it up so she could play with it. I said “sure, but you need to get me three more so your brothers can have one each too!” as I knew they’d want one as soon as they saw hers. However, Debbie didn’t want her brothers to have balloons, she wanted the fun all to herself. The rest of the conversation went like this:
Debbie: I can’t get 3 more because there is only one balloon.
Me: (knowing the packet of balloons is in the drawer) Are you sure? I thought we had a packet of balloons?
Debbie: No, this isn’t from a packet…I made it.
Me: You made it?
Debbie: Yes, I made this balloon.
Me: That’s amazing! Why don’t you make some more for the boys?
Debbie: I can’t.
Me: why not?
Debbie: I don’t have the ingredients.
Me: Sure, we can go out to the shop and get the ingredients. What are they?
Debbie: Mhmmm, it’s a secret.
This conversation went on in this fashion for a good five minutes until she conceded defeat by shouting, ‘Ha!! You believed me!’”
“I’m a nanny and this kid told me his favorite food was corn dog milkshakes. I needed to make him lunch and that’s what he wanted. He said his mom made it for him all the time. She wasn’t the best cook and a little lazy so I believed him.
I asked him what corndog milkshakes were and he looked at me like I was incompetent and very carefully and slowly told me, ‘You take the corndog out of the freezer, you take it off of the stick, and you put it in the blender with milk’.
At that point, I decided he had thought this through enough that he must be serious so I went for it
He said his mom made it for him all the time. She wasn’t the best cook and a little lazy so I believed him.
It sounded disgusting and I was skeptical if he’d even eat it so I asked him again and he rolled his eyes and said ‘no, you drink it’.
I couldn’t think of any nutritional reasons not to so I said ‘screw it’ and made the corn dog milkshake. In the middle of it I even considered trying it. He said it was his favorite food and his mom made it all the time.
The consistency was like a smoothie, the color like pepto-bismol and I can’t describe the smell. I opted out and crossed my arms to watch if he’d actually do it. He chugged it like a champ and I’ve never been more proud or disgusted. When I asked his mother about it she was absolutely horrified and denied ever having made it.”
“I was the kid.
For my 8th or 9th birthday my Dad gave me a hunting knife. We were always camping or in the woods, and I just had a thing for knives. This knife was the real deal, not a cheapo knock off. American crafted, limited edition Kershaw hunting knife. It had weight to it, it was the perfect size for my hand, balanced and sharp. He gave it to me on the condition that I would be responsible with it, and take care of it. It was my first grown up gift and I adored it.
One day, my Dad comes home, takes the trash out and something near the garbage catches his eye. He rustled through the grass, and there in the dirt was my hunting knife. Handle coming apart, covered in dirt and misshapen.
He comes to me and I could tell something was wrong. Then he starts, the way any good Dad would start when teaching their child a lesson…with a trap.
Dad: ‘Hey son, whaddya say we go camping this weekend?’
Me (a little worried because I can tell something is up): ‘Okay, I always love to go camping.’
Dad: ‘You like to go camping eh? Well you know camping requires taking care of your camping gear, right?’
Me: ‘Um, yes’
Dad: ‘So you know that? What about that knife I bought you? Did you take care of it like I asked you to?’
Dad: ‘Are you sure? I have a feeling that you didn’t take care of it at all, I have a feeling you probably just left it out in the rain to rust and rot. Son, I thought I could trust you, I thought you would take care of the things I asked you to take care of. You say you take care of this knife? Ok, show me how well you take care of it. Where is it?’
I’m on the verge of tears at this point, and I walk back to my room and he follows me. I open up my keepsake chest, shift a few things around, find a small cloth neatly wrapped up, pull it out and unsheathed my pristine Kershaw knife that I so adored and give it to my Dad.
He looks at me for what felt like for ever and eventually says ‘Ok then, let’s go camping!’
Years later after I was an adult he was telling this story and told me he found out later it was the neighbor’s knife that just happened to look very similar to mine. We had a good laugh but I can tell you I almost crapped my pants that day!”
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