If motherhood were a job, and I was applying, I'm not sure I'd get a second interview

Yesterday the kids and I decided to take advantage of the sunshine (it's so fleeting this year!) and get outside for a little while. We spread our blanket on the grass outside the apartment and broke open a tub of sidewalk chalk to let our inner artists escape.

Amid the greens and pinks of hopscotch and other doodles, Reese noticed a small ant making its way across the pavement. She tried to jump on it, but, thanks to her not-quite-developed coordination, she missed repeatedly and each time the ant surged forward, determined to survive to march another day. Thinking to myself that this was a great moment to teach the value of life, I launched into a wonderful lecture about living things, how we are merely visiting their home when we step outside, that they are beautiful and we should respect and let them be. She contented herself with laying a large leaf over the ant, a lovely new 'home' that just happened to block him from view.

I was feeling pretty good about my parenting skills when something caught my eye and I turned my head to look at it. A big, black, hairy spider was creeping up the sidewalk towards us. In an reflex of horror and defense I snatched up a nearby sandal and sent him flying, unfortunately leaving a smear of spidery goo across the sidewalk in front of us.

Silence.

"Where's the spider, Mom?" Reese asked.

That's what her words said, her innocent blue eyes stared into my soul and said something far worse.

Hypocrite.

It was an awful dilemma, and I did the only thing I could.

I lied.

"Well, Sweetie, the spider decided to go for a walk. See?

He's probably headed home now, all the way down there."

Fake it 'til you make it, right?