I don't like to lie to my kids. Rather than lie, I try to focus on any positive little thing I can grasp onto and go with that. Taking Youngest to see Spiderman III tested my creative limits. I ended up having to tell less than the truth.
It was a special treat for the two of us to go see the newest of the Spidey chronicles on its release date. To prep me (as I had not seen any of the Spiderman anthology--oh how I wish I could still make that claim!) we spent the two prior evenings watching I and II. And I knew I was in trouble. I knew I would have a difficult time sitting still in the theater. I knew I would be thinking other thoughts and not paying any attention to the flashy vacuity on the screen. I knew I didn't want to pay $8 to listen to Kirsten Dunst scream for half an hour. But I had promised.
About halfway through the torture *ahem* the movie, I realized, with a sudden grinding in the gray matter, that as soon as the house lights came up, Youngest was going to ask me if I liked it and I would have to come up with something positive so as not to crush his tender spirit.
Me, thinking to myself: There's plenty of time to come up with something. Start thinking now. I have to use the bathroom. I wonder why the woman in front of me wore that sweater with those pants? 25, 26, 27 . . . 28 ceiling tiles widthwise times 40 ceiling tiles lengthwise equals . . . I really have to use the bathroom. We'll stop at the little market on the way home and I'll pick up some sausage--we'll have pasta for dinner. I wonder if it's still raining outside . . .
Youngest: "Hey, Mom, wasn't that a great movie?!"
Me: Oh no! I forgot to find something positive to say! Quick, think! The dialogue was fatuous. In fact, parts of it made no grammatical sense. Kirsten Dunst is completely miscast. Topher Grace did a fine job playing Eric Foreman. Again. Aunt May and dead Uncle Ben were just as tedious with their long, patronizing, salt-of-the-earth speeches in this movie as in the previous two. The death scene of the character we are supposed to care about was a protracted, saccharine insult. The plot functions were predictable. And abysmal. I find it odd that according to these movies there are only 5 black people in all of New York City: an assistant newspaper editor, a cop, and 3 light skinned 20something hotties. And I can already tell you exactly what Spiderman IV is going to be about and why and who is going to join forces with whom . . .
Me: "I'm so glad we got to see this together!"
Okay, so that was a partial lie. I am glad to have done something that was special for Youngest. I'm not at all happy that I dropped more than $20 for the something to be that particular movie. Oh well. He will always remember what a great afternoon it was with his mom. That's worth the price of a little lie.