We navigate the slippery slope, from tiny transgressions to major deceptions, always with hope that we are lying for good reasons.

Sitting in the doctor’s office for Adelaide’s 18-month checkup, my anxiety was high. Not only was I actively dreading the moment the nurse would walk in wielding a syringe that would transform my delightful daughter into a tantrum-throwing dervish, I also had a date to make:  picking up my son from school in T-minus 35 minutes.

As our pediatrician ran through the standard developmental questions (Can she run? Does she say 10 words?), I answered as quickly and succinctly as possible. But when Dr. Gulino asked me how much milk my daughter drank each day, I paused.

The truth? Adelaide, my healthy, happy baby girl, hates milk. Chocolate or white, soy or dairy, cup or bottle, she will simply spit it out, indignantly return her cup to me, and demand a more palate-pleasing beverage.

My answer? “Um, actually, I’m not really sure. She loves yogurt. She eats at least a cup each day, probably more like two…” I trailed off, waiting to see if that would work.

It didn’t.

“That’s great!” Dr. G answered. “But can you just estimate her milk intake?”

I glanced at the clock—just 25 minutes until kindergarten pickup and it was at least a 20-minute drive to school. “About 8-12 ounces,” I lied. Dr. G jotted down the answer and moved on, and I felt a pang of guilt about my deception.

A Tangled Web

I am usually totally honest with my pediatrician. She’s been Adelaide’s doctor since the day she was born, steering us through diaper rash disasters and endless ear infections with the most personal and gentle care I could ask for. I just didn’t want to get into a discussion about milk. I knew my child was not calcium-deficient and, frankly, I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture. So I lied.

I know I’m not the only mother to knowingly utter untruths to those whose trust we depend on. But while I castigate my son for even the smallest lie (seriously, recently we got into it when he read ahead in Mad Libs and then lied to me about it), I somehow feel like my parenting priorities trump the need for absolute truth.

But am I just rationalizing? Or are there really times when the end justifies the deceptive, deceitful means?

We all lie, or at least we all interpret the facts very loosely when the need arises. Sometimes it really is for the best…at least when we’re not the ones being lied to. And there’s the rub.

Sins of the Fathers (and Mothers)

Most of my lies to my children are easy to justify as being “for their own good.” But while I have little remorse about stashing sugary drinks or sticky treats out of eyesight, the realization that our own parents have done the same to us in more significant ways can be a cruel splash of cold reality.

Take my husband. One night, we were discussing getting a dog. We talked about breeds and size and even hairiness, and of course, our childhood experiences with dogs. And then he told me about Blackie. Blackie was his first dog when he was little. But while he and his family took good care of the spaniel, the dog had seizures that medications couldn’t control. Blackie got sicker and sicker, until one day, he was gone.

My husband explained his parents had to take Blackie to a farm where they took care of sick dogs, because he’d be happier there. I squeezed his hand knowingly and nodded.

“What?” he asked, confused at my apparently overly somber reaction.

“Oh, they told you they were taking him to a special farm for sick dogs,” I said. “But they really had him put down, right?”

My husband stared at me, horrified. The most intelligent, insightful man I’ve ever known just couldn’t accept his parents had not told him the truth about his poor, sick dog. Yes, it’s hard to believe that in all the years since, he’d never come to this conclusion himself, but in his six-year-old mind’s eye, he must have just accepted their assurances and gone on with life.

Maybe Blackie did have a long, fruitful life on the farm, but it just seems like a natural thing for parents to fib to their child about. In fact, I could see us telling our son the same thing in that situation. Sometimes parents need to employ the protective lie so as not to traumatize children. The challenge, of course, is knowing when protection is important and recognizing when truthfulness will serve your offspring better in the long run.

Lying for Good Reasons

One mom I know, Regina, lied in a big way to her pediatrician. In fact, that lie brought her 6-year-old daughter straight to surgery.

“She kept having strep throat and had missed a lot of school, but the doctors wouldn’t take her tonsils out,” Regina says. My friend persisted until the doctor told her the only way they’d remove them was if they were swelling up and causing sleep apnea. And suddenly, Regina’s daughter’s tonsils swelled and she couldn’t sleep.

“I just told them I was watching her sleep and she quit breathing,” Regina admits. She is unrepentant, however, because once they removed the tonsils, her daughter never had another case of strep throat.

My friend Barbara also stretched the truth with the handy-dandy “home sick” trick. When her daughter’s teacher began losing control of the classroom, Barbara was worried about her child’s health and safety. While she talked to the school administration and classmates’ parents, she also dealt every day with her tween’s building anxiety about her school day. Because the school couldn’t simply remove the teacher from the classroom without an investigation, Barbara took matters into her own hands. She kept her daughter home “sick” a few times, taking her in periodically for tests and reports, until the school decided to finish the school year with a permanent substitute teacher.

For moms, understanding what our children need is natural and paramount. I knew Adelaide was fine even though she wasn’t drinking milk; Barbara knew her daughter would do better if she didn’t fear school just because of one horrible teacher. Neither one of us went by the book, but of course, children don’t come with a book. When we utilize the mommy-lie in these cases, we’re doing it because we know our child is unique and needs to be treated as such.

Of course, I can get on a high horse and enumerate all the ultra-righteous and justified reasons to shield others from the whole truth, but now it’s time to confess those times when we let our less altruistic motives lead us into letting a few lies loose.

Low-Down, Dirty Lies

Despite our youthful memories of being punished for lying, we realize that as grownups virtue and veracity are more easily preached than practiced. To our friends, to our bosses, to our spouses, and sometimes even to ourselves, we lie for a variety of reasons.

Take the boastful mom at playgroup. When she sings the praises of her perfect offspring, then pushes to find out if your children were mastering advanced calculus while still in-utero, it’s almost impossible not to exaggerate a bit.

It isn’t just the slippery slope of social status that gets us gambling with the truth. Parents often have to bend reality to meet a child’s perception about certain childhood creations.

My friend Gina’s very clever son, Zachary, decided when he was about 7 that he was going to test the whole “Tooth Fairy” theory. Without telling his mom or dad, he yanked a dangling tooth and surreptitiously placed it under his pillow. When the morning came and there was no monetary reward for his daring dental escapade, he presented his evidence to Gina, expecting a full confession.

Gina, however, would not back down. Apparently Zachary is a restless sleeper, and he had knocked the tooth into the floor in the middle of the night. She told him the Tooth Fairy didn’t accept floor teeth, only pillow teeth, and that clearly was why he didn’t get his cash. Either she was very convincing, or Zachary realized that not believing in the tooth fairy would result in a net cash flow loss for him in his prime tooth-shedding years.

Just like baby wipes, moms use convenience lies all the time. I’ve told my sitter I’d be back in an hour when I knew that was just about as likely as my sprouting wings and taking flight (though that would have significantly cut my errand-running time), and I’ve feigned sickness to get out of a party I really didn’t want to go to. I even lie to myself, telling myself the laundry really isn’t that bad (at least until my husband informs me if he doesn’t have a load of underwear washed soon, he’ll be going “commando” at work the next day).

But, truthfully, I do want to be a good example to my children. It’s embarrassing when they call me on my lies (“Mommy, you told that person we’re stuck in traffic and you know we’re not!”) and it reminds me that as much as I tell them how to act, above all, they watch and learn from me.

The Truth Comes Out

Back at the milk-crazy doctor’s office, I did make it out on time to pick up my son. Adelaide dozed off after her Tylenol dose and shots, and when her brother Will saw the Band-aids on her leg his reaction was concern.

“What happened to Adelaide’s legs?” he asked, concerned.

“She had to get shots today,” I replied. He shuddered, remembering his date with the needle for his kindergarten shots.

“I’ll need to take good care of her when we get home,” he announced. “The doctor’s office is usually pretty fun, but not when you get shots.”

A revelation—my 6-year-old thinks the doctor’s office is fun? It’s the truth. They don’t cry when they have to go. They know that Dr. G and the nurses and even the receptionists care about them. Will asks to go when he’s sick because he takes comfort in their care. I realized that not everyone has a relationship with their doctor like that and that I should value mine enough to tell her the truth.

When we got home, I emailed Dr. G and told her about the dairy deception. This was her reply: “Alyson, lots of kids don’t drink milk!  Think about lactose-intolerant children. It’s no big deal—it’s just one of those questions we ask to make sure we know what’s going on. Don’t worry if she doesn’t like it. It’s just good for us to know.”

And it was good for me to know I’d righted that little wrong. Giddy with triumph of truth over lies, I went and conquered the laundry pile, then and there! Okay, that’s not true. But I did check to make sure everyone had underwear.