Alpine Mummy

A new life in the middle of nowhere

11 Things Never to Admit to Your Kids


I’m not one of those parents who routinely ‘lie’ to their kids to keep them in order. Not out of any sense of moral wellbeing, but mainly just because I’m no damn good at it. Lying, that is. (Or keeping my kids in order, come to think of it.) I simply can’t come up with elaborate tales to get them to eat their carrots or to not say rude things about people in the supermarket, and look like I mean it.

But that doesn’t mean I’m an advocate of telling the truth at all times. No way.   There are certain things you should never tell your children, no matter how true…


1. That you genuinely can never remember your middle child’s birthday (But you can narrow it down to two dates. And Facebook will tell you, anyway, so it’s not like you’d actually miss it. So no biggie.)

2. That sometimes, just sometimes, and only for a second, you despise them. Usually when they’re all screaming at once for no apparent reason. Or one of them has poo in her hair.

3. That you once hid in the pantry and ate a whole Easter egg. Which belonged to them.

4. That the best day of your life was not the day they were born. (Mainly because at the time you were too distracted by the fact that someone was sewing up your fanny, that you had been continually off your face for several hours and at some point you would have to come down, and that you were already anticipating the fact that they weren’t going to let you out the hospital until you could prove you’d done a poo.)

5. That sometimes you throw their ‘artwork’ in the bin.

6. That sometimes you like it when they’re a little bit poorly, because for once they are quiet, they sleep a lot, and they want cuddles all day. (And before you all write in to complain, I don’t WANT them to be ill. I’m not THAT bad a mother. Can’t stand snot or sick, anyway.)

7. That you never listened to your parents, your bedroom was ALWAYS a tip, and you often bunked off school. (You should never admit the latter to your parents, either. Even 20 years after the event.)


8. That you hate mushrooms. And that you deliberately pick them out to sneak onto the kids’ plates. Even though you know they hate them too.

9. That you can genuinely never remember your middle child’s middle names. Or the youngest one’s either, for that matter.

10. That you don’t actually have Santa’s phone number.

11. That you don’t know everything.  And in fact, you don’t know much at all.



Nope, never admit any of it. Honesty is not always the best policy…

Author: Alpine Mummy

Now an ex-City lawyer, I gave up London life 'just for a year' to spend my maternity leave in a tiny village in the French Alps. Nearly three years later Alpine Family is still here - the legal career is gone but we're living the dream (most of the time) and skiing and hiking our way through life. Walks and fresh air are now the order of the day - bye bye smog, hello mountains...

5 thoughts on “11 Things Never to Admit to Your Kids

  1. My favourite is number 6. I love it when my baby just needs a cuddle with me all day. She’s teething currently so she’s very cuddly and its amazing. I thought it would be great when she began to get a bit more independent but actually it’s awful, I miss her needing me all the time.



  2. Or that their heart will never be broken…with mine now in their teenage years the challenges just keep coming.


    • Oh no, don’t tell me that…! I thought challenges stopped at the same time as nappies…? Xx


      • At least when they are older you can use, mmm, attempt to use… meaningful words and anecdotes from one’s well-lived past to help heal the rifts.
        All in all, I miss the snotty-nosed days of simultaneously pushing my pram, unwieldy due to the mountain of baby paraphernalia, grappling with crying baby falling down my hip due to strain on my distended shoulder and stretched-to-the-limit plastic shopping bag handles (carrying the no-brand foodstuffs I could afford due to being penniless on maternity leave) digging deeply into my other hand edged up against the handlebar of the pusher… down crowded streets with distracted passers-by pushing on through. On second thoughts, probably better that they were distracted as I would have looked as wild and un-kempt as the agitated child on my hip.


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