Liar, Liar

"Brandon pushed me!" Josie said as she ran into the art room crying.

Her teacher and I looked at each other with surprise. Josie never cries. And she never gets pushed. She moves around so quickly from one activity to the next that you can barely keep your eye on her let alone get a push off.

Brandon come out of the car room after hearing his name and the accusation.

"I no push," he said shaking the tonka truck in his right hand for emphasis. Brandon was the class bully. Never thought twice about stealing a toy, knocking someone over or pushing. He was a lot of things. But he wasn't a liar.

The mom working in the car room came out and confirmed his story. "Josie walked into the room for a second and ran out crying. But Brandon didn't go near her."

As Josie continued to sob with her head on my shoulder, I rubbed her back and whispered to Ms. Kristen, "I guess she lied. Sorry."

"Actually, its a sign of heightened intelligence." Miss Kristen said as she wiped down the playdo table. "Lying at this age is actually a good thing."

Great, I thought. That's probably what Madoff's preschool teacher told his mom when he lied about stealing snacks. I would gladly trade heightened intelligence for dumb and honest.

I decided to watch her behavior and see how often my little liar made use of her heightened intelligence. A few days went by without a noticeable fib. Every time she ran in saying Owen bit her, I found a corresponding teeth mark where she said it would be. If she yelled in bed that she took her pajamas off, she was in fact naked standing up in bed.

One day, while I was changing Owen's diaper, I realized she was out of sight and it was eerily quiet.

"Josie?" I called. No response. I heard a faint thump that sounded like one of the drawers in my bathroom closing.

"Josie, you better not be in my bathroom." I yelled while I slid Owen's pants back on and helped him to his feet.

"Ok," she said. Too easy, I thought.

I started to walk down the hallway and heard a familiar sound. The opening and closing of the drawer in my bathroom.

"Josie, get out of my bathroom," I yelled and seconds later she was running from my room.

"I not touch your stuff," She said trying to stay one step ahead of the impending train wreck.

"Good," I said as I continued to walk towards her. "I NOT touch your stuff." She repeated and stopped in front of me. She had heightened intelligence written all over her face.

On each side of her face were long black streaks of mascara. Glittery powder covered her forehead and champagne lip gloss glistened off the tip of her nose.

"I think you did," I said as I dragged her into the bathroom to clean up the mess and wash off her face.

As I gently scrubbed the mascara off her cheeks and then scoured the mascara off the tile on the bathroom floor, I was actually somewhat relieved. She clearly didn't have the heightened intelligence of a man like Madoff. He would have done a much better job of cleaning up after himself.