The Cost of Convenience

When a quick parenting lie feels easier than telling the truth.

A reflection on the small lies we tell our children, the trust they place in us, and whether convenience is worth the quiet cost to integrity.

By Damilola Adeniregun · 8 min read

When a child is born, there is almost automatically a baseline level of faith.

Faith in their parents or carers.

Faith that they will be kept safe. That when they are hungry, someone will feed them. That when they are afraid, someone will comfort them.

And faith that what the people they trust tell them is true.

Children do not begin life questioning everything we say.

They believe us.

And I think that is something we need to be careful with.

As parents, we try all sorts of tactics to get our children to do what we need them to do. Sometimes we are tired. Sometimes we are rushing. Sometimes we simply do not have the energy for another argument.

And often, the easiest option is to say something we know they will believe.

“Don’t do that or the police will come and take you away.”

“When the ice cream van plays music, it means they’ve run out of ice cream.”

“Don’t screw up your face. If the wind blows, it’ll stay like that.”

“Don’t swallow chewing gum. It’ll stay in your stomach for seven years.”

They believe us because we are the people they trust.

And if I am being truthful, I have done it too.

I am not writing this to condemn parents or scrutinise every silly thing we have ever said to get through the day. I am writing it because I am guilty of it myself, and recently I have had to ask whether I should be more conscious of what I am doing with that trust.

Maybe we have never thought about it.

Maybe we do not think it is a particularly big deal.

Maybe we think, They’re children. They’ll realise eventually.

But I think the question is worth asking:

Is the convenience of a lie worth the outcome?

Because what are we actually teaching?

How can I lie to my child and then tell her that she must not lie?

How can I hold her to a standard that I am not willing to be held to myself?

The uncomfortable truth is that children often lie for exactly the same reasons adults do.

To avoid something. To make something easier. To escape a consequence. To get the outcome they want.

So if my child lies because she does not want to deal with the consequences of telling me the truth, I tell her that lying is wrong.

But if I lie because I do not want to deal with the work of creating a boundary, explaining something properly or managing a tantrum, what makes my lie different?

That question bothers me.

Are we teaching our children that lying is wrong?

Or that lying is wrong for children?

Are we teaching them not to lie?

Or simply not to lie to us?

Because children are learning from the standard we live by, not only the standard we speak about.

The standard has to apply to me too

This becomes even more important to me as a Christian parent.

We know that lying is wrong. We teach our children about truth. We want them to know Jesus, trust Scripture and develop a genuine faith in God.

So I have to ask myself an uncomfortable question:

Why would I deliberately ignore that same standard when telling the truth becomes inconvenient for me?

Again, this is not judgement.

Remember, I am guilty too.

In fact, this article makes me slightly uncomfortable to write because I know I cannot write it and then comfortably continue choosing to lie to my children simply because it makes parenting easier.

Once I become conscious of something, I have a decision to make.

And perhaps that is the difficult part.

Sometimes the truth costs more

Telling the truth may mean explaining something instead of giving a quick answer.

It may mean allowing my child to be disappointed.

It may mean saying:

“No, you cannot have an ice cream today.”

And then dealing with the crying that follows.

It may mean creating a real boundary instead of inventing a frightening consequence.

It may mean saying, “I don’t know,” rather than making something up.

It may mean doing the harder thing simply because it is the right thing.

And when I think about it like that, the issue becomes bigger than the ice cream van.

It becomes a question of integrity.

Jesus says in Matthew 5:37:

“Let your ‘Yes’ be ‘Yes,’ and your ‘No,’ ‘No.’”

I want that to describe me.

I want my yes to mean yes and my no to mean no.

I want my children to know that when Mummy tells them something, I mean it.

I want to be a woman of integrity.

Someone who is willing to do the harder thing because of principle, even when the easier option would cost me nothing in that particular moment.

And ultimately, more than wanting my children to think well of me, I want God to be pleased with me.

Trust is part of how we teach faith

Building faith in our children is not only about teaching Bible stories, taking them to church, praying together or helping them memorise Scripture.

It is also about what they experience of truth, trust and integrity at home.

As I teach my children about a God they cannot physically see, I am asking them to trust that what I am teaching them about Him is true.

That makes me think differently about the trust they have already placed in me.

I do not want to manipulate that trust simply because it makes parenting more convenient.

And I do not think this means creating a home where every conversation is painfully serious or where parents are terrified of ever joking with their children.

There is a difference between imagination, humour, family traditions and deliberately telling a child something false because their belief makes our lives easier.

For me, the question is becoming:

Am I saying this because it is true, or because it is convenient?

That is a useful question.

And when I get it wrong?

Will I get this perfect from now on?

Probably not.

But I can become more conscious.

I can catch myself.

I can correct myself.

And if I realise I have lied, I can even go back to my child and say:

“Actually, what Mummy told you wasn’t true. I’m sorry. I should have told you the truth.”

Perhaps that teaches something too.

It teaches that adults are accountable.

It teaches that saying sorry does not make you weak.

It teaches that integrity is not pretending you never get anything wrong. It is being willing to put something right when you do.

And maybe that is more valuable than maintaining the illusion that Mummy always gets everything right.

The cost of convenience

A quick lie can save us five minutes.

It can stop a tantrum.

End an argument.

Get everyone into the car.

Make bedtime slightly easier.

And sometimes, in that moment, it genuinely feels harmless.

But trust is built through thousands of tiny interactions.

So perhaps the things that feel insignificant deserve a little more thought than we have given them.

If you have read this and it has simply made you pause before saying something to your child that you know is not true, then this article has done what I wanted it to do.

Not condemnation.

Not perfection.

Just awareness.

Because their trust in us is precious.

And I think we should handle it that way.