Among the lies I tell my kid...

Maybe lie is the wrong word.

When Otter is settling into bed, he often finds he desperately needs a particular stuffed animal or doll. Plaintive cries of "Lulu! Lulu!" or "CHAH-lie Dohhg!" suddenly issue forth from the crib after we (by which I mean me or G or both) hope we have gotten him all comfy and ready to sleep.

Or sometimes he wants a particular comfort shirt or blanket. ("PURR-ple one! PURR-ple one!") (Did I mention purple is his favorite color?)

Now, ideally, G or I would reach over to the bin of stuffed animals and produce Otter's latest requested love object. However, given that anything Otter really wants is something he's likely to have been playing with, and thus to have left just about anywhere--usually, it seems, underneath or behind something--the requested object is often not immediately apparent. The bin of animals is full of the ones he hasn't played with recently.

So sometimes, either after looking in vain, or more often, after deciding in about two nano-seconds that I don't know offhand where the love object of the evening is, I will say:

"I'm sorry, Otter, Charlie Dog is on an adventure. Here's Milo--or Bumpe, or Hat Bunny, or Sophie the Hippo" (not to be confused with Sophie the Rabbit, both named by Otter, both of whom jingle).

And Otter will say "BENN-ture," and I will say, "yes, Charlie Dog is on an adventure. We can see him tomorrow."

Some of this is, I would argue, smart (or at least time-effective) parenting: Otter has learned to be fairly accepting of a range of comfort objects. And fairly tolerant of small disappointments.

Some of it is bedtime laziness on my part; I don't want to rummage through everything, including the laundry, the bedding, and the car, in search of something.

Divide it up as you like.