Truth, Lies, or Dare - My 3 Sons

This is a post about my three sons: Truth, Lies, or Dare.

First, Truth - AKA Sam. Sam is an absolutist. He occupies a world where everything is black or white. When confronted with gray areas, he struggles. Like when "grown ups can make their own choices" even when they are not in sync with Sam's moral values.

He doesn't lie. Even when it would save him from getting in trouble. Oh, he's tried a few times, but he just can't do it. A few times he's come close, but before too long, he rats himself out.

He is a reporter with distinct journalistic accuracy - chronicling everything that happened (or didn't happen) while I was gone, while he was at school, during primary, or whatever. Sam is Truth.

Second, Lies - AKA Jake. Jake likes to make stuff up. Not maliciously, generally, just innocuous make believe. When I was pregnant with Abby, people would ask him what we were naming the baby and he would answer with the most serious tone possible - "Donald Duck."

He likes to make words and expressions up, too. Recently, he's been saying "Mom, I know lots of Spanish words." Oh, really? I ask. "Yup. Like Oogie-oogi-da-boogie. That's a lot of Spanish words I know." Incidentally, he's trying to teach Abby Spanish and so he uses that phrase a lot in his encounters with her.

He and I play hyperbole games like, "I wish I had 100 ____." His fill-in's have included belly buttons, zebras, and hot dogs, among others.

He likes to name call with made-up words, too, which infuriates Truth. When he was younger he used to bring Sam to tears by calling him a "Bupper Head." No idea where that came from, by the way. Then Uncle Ryan taught him the true beauty of "Sam-a-lam-a-ding-dong," and we've not had peace since. Jake is Lies.

Third, Dare - AKA Will. Will generally chooses not to speak, unless it is an outraged "MINE!" or the urgent "MO-OM!" Instead, he just stares you down and dares you. For example, the following exchange where Will's responses are all non-verbal:

Mom: bring me that remote, Will.

Will: What? This remote?

Mom: Will, bring Mom the remote, right now.

Will: Why? You left it out and I found it.

Mom: Will, please bring Mom the remote. RIGHT NOW.

Will: Seriously Mom, you're feeding Abby on the couch RIGHT NOW, so what are you going to do if I don't bring you the remote RIGHT NOW? Besides, I'm trying to figure out how it works.

Mom: Will? Do you need to sit in time out? Bring me the remote.

Will: Time Out? Please. I still don't think you're getting off the couch.

Mom: 1....2....

Will: Are you going to say 3? Because if you do, you're going to get off the couch and I'm going to run - run like the wind - and you're holding Abby and there's toys all over the floor. I don't think you're going to say 3.

Mom: 3. Will, bring me that remote.

Will: Bring it, Mom. Bring it.

Now I must point out that I really don't care that he has the remote, chances are he can't hurt it. Only, this is Dare we're talking about and he is the child who in six short weeks of sleepless nights figured out how to disassemble his pack-n-play FROM THE INSIDE!!! I'm secretly nervous that given enough time with that remote I'd walk into the living room one night to find him in nothing but his diaper watching some pay-per-view UFC THROWDOWN event kicking back on his sippy cup full of milk. So, I get up off the couch. Dare wins every time.

And Abby, you ask? Only time will tell.