Monday, August 27, 2007

Scam Artist

That would be Casey.

Today was his first swim lesson since last summer. I missed out on all the swimming last summer while I was in China or working. But this year, swim class is after work, and so I'm taking him. We talked about it all weekend. Then, this morning, I told him I'd pick him up from school and then we'd go to his swim class together. We picked out the bathing suit, towel, and shoes. And he kissed me good-bye.

Around mid-day, his teacher called. She explained he wasn't feeling well.

"Is he really not feeling well? Or does he just say he isn't feeling well?" I asked the teacher.

"No. I think he's really sick. He's not really eating his lunch, and he says his back hurts," she explained. "He said he wants his mommy."

"His back?" I repeated. "He says his back hurts, not his stomach?"

"Yes," she replied.

"Okay, I'm on my way. I'll be about 25 minutes."

All the way to the preschool, my mind struggled to figure it out. I had let him sleep on the blow-up Thomas mattress his friend Baron gave him. The blow-up bed was on his regular bed. Maybe he tweaked his back. What else could have caused the back pain?

When I arrived at the school, Casey came running up to me. "Hi, Mommy!" he cried out.

"Hi, Casey. Ms. G. says you aren't feeling well. Can you show me where it hurts?"

He lifted up his shirt and puffed out his stomach. His teacher looked at me, surprised, "He said his back hurt, not his stomach." My face must have given me away because she followed up with, "He cried with real tears."

I told her it wasn't her fault. I knew he hadn't been sick when he left for school, and I suspected this was a rouse for attention. Then, Casey confirmed it when he looked right at me and said, "Can we go swimming, now?"

The little stinker! I think he actually figured we'd go swimming whenever I picked him up-- and he figured out a way to get me there sooner. On the one hand, I'm impressed. On the bigger hand, I'm irritated. We sure gave him an earful at dinner-- after swim lessons. We didn't actually tell him the story of the boy who cried wolf, but we gave him the idea. . .

What a manipulator!

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