As indicated by the title, I had the single most infuriating conversation I've ever had with anyone in my entire life recently with my 5-year-old son.
He had spent a long weekend with his father, heading over on Saturday morning and coming back Monday evening -- two nights and three days, for the record. (That simple calculation is about to become very important.)
For reasons that I cannot recall, the topic of how long he'd been with his dad came up in the car while we were heading to the grocery store one day, and he insisted he'd been with his father for three nights.
"No," I said gently. "You were there for two nights."
"No," he said. "I was there for three nights."
I couldn't figure out why he cared or why he was stuck on the subject, but he was absolutely certain in his mind that he had been there for three nights. And I, for reasons surpassing understanding because I should have learned long ago not to try respond rationally to irrationality, was hellbent on getting him to see that he was wrong.
"You went there Saturday morning, and you slept there Saturday night, remember. Then you got up Sunday, went to church, spent the day there and then went to bed again Sunday night. Then you got up Monday and hung out for a while and then came home. See? You slept there for two nights."
He looked at me quizzically for a moment, and I thought for a fleeting moment that he was about to realize his mistake and relent. But then no.
"No, I slept there three nights," he retorted.
"No, baby. Listen. You slept there Saturday night. Hold up one finger. OK, you slept there Sunday night. Hold up another finger. And then you came home Monday. See, you've got only two fingers up. You were there two nights. "
Pause for reflection...
"No, I was there three nights."
Aaaarrrgghhh!
"How could you possibly have been there three nights? You were home with Mommy Friday night, right?"
"Right."
"And you slept at Daddy's Saturday and Sunday and then came home Monday, right?"
"Right"
"So you were there two nights."
"No, I was there for three."
My blood pressure is spiking right now just from the recollection and retelling of this conversation. And it went on much longer than I'm subjecting you to right now. Every little exchange I've recounted here happened at least three times in almost identical duplication before I moved on to try another tack. It was absolutely infuriating.
"I want to ask my daddy," he said.
"Fine," I spat out, frustrated to my very core, and began to dial the phone.
My ex, of course, confirmed that he'd been there for two nights, although he complicated things even further for a moment by saying he'd been there for three days. But, still, we had a solid "two night" confirmation from his father, yet my son remained skeptical.
"Forget it," I said, having reached the end of my rope. "Let's just get in the grocery store and get what we need. I can't talk about this anymore."
So he climbed out of the car and slipped his little hand in mine as we began to make our way across the parking lot. He was quiet until just before we reached the door.
"My daddy lied to me," he said.
I paused and squatted down next to him. "What, baby?"
"My daddy lied," he said. "He said I was going to be there for three nights."
Oooohhhh, so this is what this was all about? Daddy, he thought, had told him he would be there for three nights, and so even in the face of obvious evidence to the contrary, he remained utterly convinced that he had been there for the time period his daddy said he would be.
Lying, he's come to understand, is a very bad thing, and I could see he was feeling crushed that he thought his daddy lied.
As little tears welled in his eyes at his hurt, my frustration melted away and I wrapped my arms around him and assured him that his daddy had not lied to him, that daddy meant he was going to be there for three days -- Saturday, Sunday and Monday -- and didn't mean to say he was going to spend three nights.
That finally seemed to make everything OK. Yes, of course he had been there for only two nights, he suddenly realized (insert eye rolling here).
While I'm not sure I've ever been so frustrated in my entire life, I did feel a little glow of warmth after it was all said and done. So steadfast was my son's faith in his parents that he would defy the very bounds of logic to believe in them. That's pretty cool.
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