Presenting them with a giant bowl of soy-sauce covered quinoa, I declared to the kids: "It's just rice!" And they ate it. Almost all of it. And the edamame beans at the bottom. And the corn kernels peppered throughout.
When prompted for orange soda -- a household item recently purchased to discourage pull-up-poop and incent toilet-poop -- I came up with a long-winded story culminating in: "all the bubbles in there will bubble in your belly and make it hurt."
Yes. I lied.
Moments later, my independent 5-year-old emerges from the bathroom, claiming to have washed his hands.
"Are you sure?" I ask.
"Yes," he replies, smiling guiltily.
Being the little liar that I am, I try again: "You have one second to tell me the truth."
"I did!" he insists.
"OK," I say, relying on my own subtle technique to play truth masterminder, "If I go in and check the sink and it's not wet, no TV tonight."
At which point he darts to the bathroom, scrubbing, slathering and sudd-ifying the floor.
"Told you I did it," he casually smiles, emerging moments later, calm, cool and collected.
Just like his Mamma.