When Mommy Was Nice

Lately Trevor has been telling random strangers, "When I was a baby, my Mom was nice to me. Jamon told me that." I jokingly add, "Those days are over!" But I was a little stumped the other day when we were checking out at the grocery store. He had been unusually and exceptionally cooperative. A model child. I was planning to reward him from the candy selection at the check out to reinforce the behavior for future shopping trips. So we were waiting our turn:

"Can I have a treat?"
"Were you a good boy at the store today?"
"Yes."
"Did you scream?"
"No."
"Did you run?"
"No."
"Did you stay by Mom?"
"Yes."
"Yes. You did. You were a very good boy, so you can pick a treat today!!!"
"I didn't cry!"
"You didn't."
"And I didn't yell!"
"Nope, you didn't."
"And you didn't hit me!"

"Uh..." My reflex was to quickly scan the periphery. Surely all the people who had been grinning at this interchange hadn't heard that last part, had they? Cause there was no way I could answer the accusation in a believable manner.

If I said, "What are you talking about?" as my eyes are flicking side to side to ascertain who is going to report me, I have guilt written all over my face.

If I said, "What, sweetie? Why would you even suggest something like that? We don't even know what hitting is! Did you learn that at preschool?" it would be an obvious cover.

So I stood there saying nothing, feeling the guilt I had not in fact earned. A grown woman at the mercy of the vocabulary choice of a three-year old.