Imaginary Friends

So we have officially entered "imaginary friend" territory. We got our passports stamped and everything. Completely legitimate. If there were an imaginary friend territory, I wonder what their slogan would be? Like, "Welcome to Texas, the Lone Star State." Or "Welcome to Ohio. At least you're not in Michigan." or "Welcome to Canada, where the ketchup is sweeter." (It is sweeter here. Weird.) I bet it would be something like this:

"Welcome to Imaginary Friend Territory, where your kids will use fabricated people to manipulate you into giving them two treats instead of one."

Or, "Imaginary Friend Land- where your child will insult your parenting skills by comparing you to his imaginary friend's made-up mother!"

Or maybe "Imaginary Friend Land- create your very own scapegoat today!"

Seriously. How do kids know to have imaginary friends? Where does this come from?

I remember when imaginary friends were wholesome. The worst crime you would commit with your imaginary friend was staying up too late hiding under the sheets reading The Babysitter's Club books by flashlight. Now kids use their iphones for flashlights. And Kindles instead of books.

Now imaginary friends are incendiary juvenile delinquents stirring up trouble wherever they go. Planting seeds of rebellion in the hearts of children across the globe. It's a dangerous game, my friend. Play wisely.

Aidan is abusing his power with this whole imaginary friend game. I am convinced that he is very deliberately using his imaginary friend to wage psychological warfare.

Think I'm overreacting?

Nay. Not in the slightest.

Let's get started with the basics.

His name is Tent. Yep, Tent.

When Trevor and I originally questioned Tent's origins, Aidan quickly informed us that he was Silver's older brother (Silver is Aidan's baby he got when Ainsley was born- I guess this confirms Aidan's knack for coming up with Hollywood-esque children names). Dang. He got us there. This kid's a genius. He's tugging on the heartstrings. Now Tent is practically family, so we've got to let him stay.

A few days later Tent's still hanging around. I tell Aidan that Tent's family probably misses him and he should be making his way home. Cue guilt trip. Apparently Tent's family's home is so small that Tent has nowhere to sleep. He does let me know that they have a camper (Like Randy and Cheryl, he adds). But it's too cold outside to sleep in a camper. Oh the irony of a family with a kid named Tent that owns a camper.

Tent can stay. For now.

The power goes to their heads. All of a sudden Aidan and Tent are getting cocky. I start hearing little tidbits about Tent's parents sprinkled throughout daily conversation. Tent's mom, Goggy (pronounced Go-gee)and his dad, Frank (How did he get off so easy?) are turning into everything that Aidan wishes Trevor and I were.

Apparently Frank has a brand new truck (Aidan's been wanting Trevor to get a truck for a while now). I'm starting to question him as a father if he owns a house so small that his kid has no place to sleep yet he drives a big fancy truck. And he drops off all kinds of wonderful things that I won't let Aidan have: from a playground in the back yard to chicken nuggets from McDonald's to a bag of cookies. I'm starting to wonder if "Frank" is involved in the mafia and has been assigned to a witness protection program in the great Canadian North. Now the weird names are starting to make sense.

As I was sewing today, Aidan informed me that Tent's mom let him sew with her. Riiight. Here four year-old son, why don't you come join me? Come sit at this whirring monstrosity of wheels, pedals and crevices that you can get your tiny fingers stuck in. Come frolic around my table full of sharp needles, scissors and seam rippers.

Tent's mom lets him do this. And Tent's mom never makes HIM clean up. And Tent's mom...

Tent's mom is crazy. And obviously has no boundaries.

The funny thing about Tent is he's the sweetest boy. According to Aidan he does all the right things. He loves to eat all of the foods that Aidan hates and he's very polite. Every time he comes over he brings snacks with him. They're not real of course, but it's the thought that counts.

This whole situation made me think about the fact that we all create a little bit of a false reality in our own lives. Hopefully not to the extent of making up friends who aren't real, but it's still there. It's kind of like a defense mechanism. We build walls of little lies all around us to protect ourselves from the reality of who we are.

Maybe I'm the only one who does this, but I'm pretty sure I'm not.

I like to think I'm selfless and giving, but I'm actually pretty selfish.

I like to think I'm compassionate and merciful, but I can actually be rather judgemental.

I like to think I'm quick to forgive, but sometimes I find myself holding onto bitterness.

I like to think I'm like Jesus, but sometimes I realize I'm more like a pharisee.

The more I get to "know" Tent, the more I realize how much I pretend, too.

How different is the real me from who I'm pretending to be?