What I Say When My Child Lies to My Face

On Wednesday night I asked Lily whether she'd brushed her teeth. She said yes. I was holding her toothbrush at the time and it was bone dry, because I'd already gone into the bathroom and pressed my thumb to the bristles before walking back out to ask.

I'd like to say that was the first time I'd set a trap like that.

Stop asking what you already know

When I taught third grade I got good at skipping the trap, mostly because I had twenty-four children and no time to be coy. If Ryan's pencil turned up in someone else's desk, I didn't ask who took it. I said, "Ryan's pencil is in your desk," in the voice you'd use for the weather, and then I asked what we should do about it. The child had nothing to deny.

At home I forget all of that, because at home I love the person and I'm a little hurt, and a lie from my own child lands somewhere a lie from a student never did. So I reach for the trap. "Did you finish your reading?" when I've already seen the book under the bed. "Who left the gate open?" when Penny is strutting around Brother Hendricks's yard and I watched Caleb come in the back door. What works better is to say what you see. "The gate was open and Penny is next door." "Your reading book is under the bed." Then stop talking and let the child decide what to do with that.

You don't need the confession to arrive on your terms. A child who has to lie before she can confess has been handed two jobs, and the first one is a lot easier than the second.

Three kids, three different lies

Mine are three separate problems at the moment, and I've quit treating them as one.

Ben is two years and nine months and says "No cookie" with chocolate to his ears. I wouldn't call that lying in any sense worth a consequence. He's saying what he wishes were true, and his sense of what causes what is still under construction.

Lily is eight, and she lies tidily and with a lot of hope. Wednesday's lie had very little to do with teeth. She wanted to be a girl who had already brushed, and at nine o'clock the quickest way to become that girl was to say so. I think a good share of eight-year-old lies are wishes said out loud with a straight face.

Caleb is eleven, and his lies are mostly about how he looks. He says "fine" and "I did" and "everybody's allowed," and being seen as a certain kind of person matters more to him every month, so I expect the lies to get more skillful before they get fewer. I'd rather know that going in. Last month he told his dad the wet towel was hung up when it was on the floor by his bed, and what he was protecting was his afternoon.

Under all three, I think, is fear of what comes next. Somebody in that child's head looked at the situation and decided the lie was safer than the truth, and punishing the lie harder doesn't change that decision. It just teaches a kid who got caught and shamed to be more careful the next time.

Don't promise you won't be mad

For years I crouched down at eye level and said, "Just tell me the truth and I won't be mad." Then the truth would be something expensive and I would be mad, and I'd try to hide it, and my kids got to watch me do the exact thing I'd asked them not to.

Now I say, "I might be upset when I hear it. I still want to know." And I make the second half true, which is the hard part. If the broken thing earns one consequence and the lie about it earns a bigger one, a child will conclude that owning up means getting punished twice, and an eight-year-old can work that out before I've crossed the room.

So the lie gets its own consequence, small and the same every time. You say it again, correctly. "I said I brushed and I hadn't." That one sentence takes a surprising amount out of a kid and it's plenty. Whatever was originally wrong gets what it would have gotten anyway.

If you can decide all this ahead of time, do, because nobody thinks well at nine at night with a dry toothbrush in the house.

What the scriptures say about lying

Parents quote Doctrine and Covenants 42:21 at children, and it makes me nervous. "Thou shalt not lie; he that lieth and will not repent shall be cast out." I understand why it comes out at the kitchen table. But read the words "will not repent." The verse leaves a door open, and sixteen sections later the Lord describes what going through it looks like:

Behold, he who has repented of his sins, the same is forgiven, and I, the Lord, remember them no more. By this ye may know if a man repenteth of his sins—behold, he will confess them and forsake them.

Doctrine and Covenants 58:42-43

A child can do both of those things, and saying it again, correctly, is more or less that verse at kitchen-table size.

Paul gives a reason in Ephesians that I find easier to hand a kid than a warning:

Wherefore putting away lying, speak every man truth with his neighbour: for we are members one of another.

Ephesians 4:25

When one of my kids lies to me I do feel something go slack between us, and if I remember that before I open my mouth my voice comes out different. I'm not interrogating anyone then.

When the grown-up is the one who lied

We tell our kids small untruths all day and they keep a list. I told Caleb at four that the ice cream truck plays music only when it's run out of ice cream. He believed it two summers, until he heard the music outside a neighbor's house with a line of kids on the curb holding dollars. I told him I'd said it so we wouldn't have to stop every time, that it was a lie and that I was sorry. He said "Okay" and went back out. It's still the cleanest repair I've ever made.

I tell Lily things too. A shot at her checkup "wouldn't hurt," and she's eight and hasn't forgotten, so when I say "this one's quick" about anything now she asks me how many minutes.

Say it about the late pickup. Say it about "five more minutes" and whatever you told Grandpa on speakerphone.

Then there's the other direction, taking the truth when it's unwelcome, which I'm still working on. A child who says church is boring is telling you something true, and I've written before about why I'd rather believe them than coach them to say what I wanted to hear. If an honest answer gets a lecture in your house, the honest answers dry up.

Frequently Asked Questions

Is my toddler lying or just two?

Mostly he's just two, because under four or five kids say untrue things because they wish them true or because they can't yet keep what happened apart from what they hoped happened. I'd skip the consequence and say plainly what you see: "The marker is on the wall." Keep your face boring.

Should I make my child say sorry?

I'd rather they fix the thing than say the word, since a forced "sorry" is usually a second lie delivered to end the conversation. Have them say what happened, correctly, and then do something to put it right, like redoing the chore or telling the other person themselves. The apology tends to show up on its own after that, and it means something when it does.

What if he keeps lying even after we've talked?

Then I'd stop talking about the lies and look at what's making them necessary. Is he scared of one person's reaction, or trying to keep up with friends, or is it always about the same thing like homework or screens? A child who lies constantly is usually carrying something. If it's a lot, or it's seeping into everything, a school counselor or your pediatrician is a reasonable next call.

Should the lie be punished more than what he did?

Keep it much smaller than the original mistake. If telling the truth leaves a kid worse off than hiding it would have, you'll get hiding every time. One clear consequence for the original mistake, a short repair for the lie, and then the whole thing is closed.

I haven't figured out how to raise three honest children. I do know my own questions are where I can start, and I'm curious about yours. When you lied as a kid and got found out, what did your parents do? Did it make you more truthful or only more careful?

with love, Melissa