A Necessary Deceit

I had made one of those off-hand promises. You know the ones? Where you're completely focused on a task, and your child approaches and asks something, and you nod or say, "uh-huh," which really means "hold on a sec, I'll be right with you but I've got to finish this one thing," but which your child takes as an affirmative answer and goes away happy, and you return to your task and forget the whole conversation ever happened? One of those.

(Or am I the only one who does that? Wait. Don't answer. I don't have time for parental insecurities this morning. I've got to tell you this, and then I've got to prepare brunch for 15 wonderful CFC folks.)

So allegedly, I had told Chloe that she could stay up 'til midnight on Friday. She reminded me on Friday morning just as I was leaving for work, and after a small conversation in which the words, "I said that? When?" and "Are you sure?" and "Mom, you said I could!" may have been used, I did, indeed, recall some vague whispers of the topic.

But seriously, midnight? I understand the mysterious romance and intrigue Chloe felt about that magical hour, but we all know the ramifications of a 7 and a 4 year old staying awake until midnight on a Friday -- a Saturday with extraordinarily increased levels of tears and whining and general misery. Plus I wasn't even sure I could stay up until midnight myself, which would present chaperoning issues.

At work, I relayed the situation to my friend, Rick (who I must say is not necessarily as devious as much as he is an experienced father of two).

"Easy," said Rick. "After it gets dark, distract the kiddos with a movie or something. Then move the clocks ahead two hours."

Brilliant.
Midnight came at 10:00, and we were all safely tucked into bed.