Pants on Fire: My Life as Liar.

I remember the very first time I lied to my mother (it probably wasn't the very first time, but the first that I remember making the distinct decision to lie).  I was probably  five or six at the time and we lived in an apartment complex.  It was a nice day, and so I was allowed to stay on the landing to play while my mom cleaned house downstairs.  My friends were all out riding their big wheels and I so desperately wanted to ride.  I needed to ride.  So I did.  Without shoes.  And you remember Big Wheels, right? 

No brakes on these suckers.  You use your feet to stop.  At this age, I was likely supposed to be wearing something like these:

Except I wasn't.  I was barefoot, because I was SUPPOSED TO STAY ON THE LANDING.  My mother, she had been clear about this.  She trusted me, but I left the landing.  I rode my big wheel (maybe a friend's big wheel?), used my barefeet to stop and in the process, seriously busted open my big toe.  It was bloody and oozy and there was a gnarly chunk of skin hanging off and it hurt bad and you are lucky that I don't have a picture to share with you. But you can take a second here to picture it for yourself; I'll wait. 

Now that you are sufficiently grossed out, you can picture me hobbling tearfully down the one flight of cold stairs, dripping blood with every step, calling out for my mom.  Of course, she cleaned it up and used 4 bandages to cover the gaping wound, but she never asked how it happened.  Even at this age, I felt immediate guilt.  Did she know?  Could she the reflection of a Big Wheel in my eyes?  I blurted out-- and I remember this so clearly to this day-- "I fell off the landing and stubbed my toe.  I just fell."  She just nodded, hugged me and sent me back out.  It felt like hours that I sat there on the landing, but it was probably just minutes, being racked by the guilt. At some point, it must have been too much for my kindergarten heart to take and I rushed back inside and blurted out the truth: "I stubbed my toe while I was riding the Big Wheel!  I didn't stay on the landing like I was supposed to!" Post-confession, I was relieved.  It was all out now; I could breathe easy again, because I had Done The Right Thing and Told The Truth.*

I'm sure I lied as a teenager, though I can only remember a specific few times.  Usually, I didn't have a reason to lie.  In college and in the early years of my twenties, I didn't do a lot of lying either, except to occasionally spare someone's feelings.  My lies were less about self-protection and more about not wanting to hurt others.  Generally speaking, to this day, I'm not a supporter of  the notion that's it's always best to tell the truth. There are times when I think it is better to spare someone unneccessary information or their feelings, when it's something of no or small consequence.  And more than anything, I realize that there is generally not a Truth, but many Truths, as it all depends on the perspective.  Not to get all existential on you or anything, but what all see different things from where we view a situation.  Sometimes, or maybe even often, our personal version of the Truth is the realest any of us will ever get to a Truth.  (Now we all just need some black turtlenecks, a cup of tea and a jazzbeat in the background for discussion).

As a mom, though, I've resorted back to my lying ways.  There are the usual lies, about the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus, of course.  While we do make an effort to explain things and be honest with our kids, sometimes it's easier for them to understand things in their own terms.  So here are some lies I've/we've told recently to our rough-and-tumbles:

• Mommy has a headache and needs a nap, so Daddy has to take you to the park (when really what Mommy needs is a glass of wine and some DVR'd episodes of shows that are not kid-appropriate).
• The stores and parks close after lunch because everyone takes a nap. (In fact, lots of places are often "closed.")
• The cows can't make milk in the spring (cutting our diary seems to help those allergy-ridden folks in our house, but try explaining that to a three year old who is obsessed with orange milk)
• Of course there aren't vegetables in this dish.  You can't seem them, can you?  You can't taste them, can you?  Then they aren't there.
• The chalk-spray only works when it's warm outside because when it's cold, the chalk hardens.
• It's a law that you have to hold hands when you cross a street and in parking lots.  The police cars are driving around to make sure people are holding hands.
• It's not medicine; it's liquid candy! (It sort of amazes me that this one continues to work)
• Everyone goes to sleep when it gets dark and no one is allowed up before the sun comes up, except adults.

 So I'm a liar.  I guess some things never change :) But now for your confessions-- I wanna hear your lies!  Because we all know I'm not the only one, right?  Right?

*I was totally grounded, by the way.  I thought I wouldn't be because of doing the right thing and all, but oh no.  Mom hugged me, told me she appreciated that I told the truth, and then I had to stay inside the rest of the weekend. In retrospect, I'm willing to bet she knew all along what had happened, but allowed the lie because then she would be able to get the rest of her work done without me there, hindering her progress.  I can't say I blame her. 

Raindrops on Roses and Whiskers on Kittens

Life has been tremendously busy this past month or so (but I guess everyone says that). The holidays were good, but seemed to speed up the time that was already going too fast. And now, there's only one week left in January. 3 weeks until I'm 29, the laslt year of this decade. Just a little over a month until Ethan's first birthday. Phew.

I'll share some of my favorite things from this month:

On Sunday, the day after we arrived home from Kansas, Halsey was playing in the hallway when he said:
"Hey Mom!"
Now, he's called me "mom" accidently before, sort of how I end up calling Ethan by Dillon's name, or Dillon by Jason's name, and we sort of ignore it and move on. But this was a different tone; he intentionally called me mom.
"Mom," he said again.
I just said, oh-so-nonchalantly, "yes, Halsey?"
"Sometimes, I like to call you mom. Is that okay?"
I grinned the biggest smile ever and said, "Absolutely."

It may sound silly, but he's always called me "Trina." And I know I'm his stepmom, but there's that "step" in front that makes it sound sort of inferior, like "lessermom." And yes, Ethan is my biological child and will one day call me mom, but this was the very first time that I was called, directly and intentionally, "Mom." It felt like putting on the softest, warmest sweater on the windiest, coldest day.

Ethan is now standing up on his own. As in ,from the middle of the floor, not using anything to pull himself up. Just standing there, looking very proud of himself. Walking is just around the corner. While I hate that he is growing up so quickly, I love watching him explore his world and get to know this place. Again, I may sound cheesey, but it really is like the world is new again as I get to see it through his eyes. It is the most amazing thing. He's also just gotten into music. He's always been fascinated when Jason plays his guitar, but now he "dances" and "sings" whenever he hears music. The way his little body just bounces, the way his eyes and smile light up whenever there's a good beat, it's just so... cute. It's achingly cute, the way the baby bunnies and puppies are cute. Anytime Halsey's guitar is in reach, it's the toy he makes a beeline for. He loves to make the music, and I guess it's in his blood. For over five generations, the Hill boys have been making music. It's only fitting that this next generation continue the tradition.

I love my job. I feel so disheartened when I hear other teachers talk about all of the negatives-- the hours, the pay, the parents, the paperwork, the hoops to jump through. I don't have to deal with much of that because I choose to work at a private school, but I do make a significantly less amount on my paychecks, but ya know, I CHOOSE that. Teaching shouldn't be something that you just sort of happen into; it is an honorable profession, despite the fact that teachers don't always get the respect they deserve. And I feel that despite all of the crappy parts of the job, teachers should love what they do and if they don't, then maybe they shouldn't be teaching. Or they're in it for the wrong reason (I mean, complaining about the pay? ReallY? Did you go into teaching to make money? It's certainly not the pay that teachers deserve, but how many of us get paid what we think we deserve?). But in the end, I feel fortunate to truly love my job. I have great students, sometimes great academically, sometimes just great souls and even the challenging ones are great in some ways. I learn from these kids just as much as I teach them. I make a lot less money than most people, and again, probably at least a third less than my friends who teach in public schools, but I get the benefit of loving my job and knowing that reasons I wanted to teach-- to share my love of books and writing with kids so that they might find that love for themselves-- those reasons are the reasons I am still there.

And while money is still tight, we're making due. Jason and I have both worked hard to cut ourselves down to really only taking what we need. We're both packing our lunches every day; we're turning off lights more often, keeping our heat down and I have given up buying magazines (well, mostly given it up). We know that we'll get by and it's been hard, but at least we have each other. It may not be able to pay the rent, but if I end up in a cardboard box, at least I'll have Jason.

And, and!! LOST is back. Huzzah! I only started watching last year, when I was home on maternity leave (the seasons on dvd was like a little bit of heaven) and am hooked. Last night left me a little confused, but excited.

AND AND AND!!!! The best thing about January?

President Obama. :)

Leave it to Oprah.

I've been doing a lot of thinking recently about the kind of person I am and the kind of person I want to be. I've always tried to be a good person, but there's nothing like a big life change to really get me moving. Becoming a mother has done just that. I look at Ethan and want to be the best role model for him that I can possibly be; I want him to be proud of his mom.
Other things get me thinking, too. I've given up Law and Order SVU to watch the new season of Morgan Spurlock's 30 Days. I know that may sound cheesy, but this one hour a week really gets me to think about new things that I don't normally focus on. This show opens my horizons and helps me to be more of an empathetic person. I wish I could thank Morgan in person for that.
And today on Oprah, there was a Dr. Oz special on death. Sounded a bit creepy to me when I heard the show's title, but I watched it anyway. Kris Carr was on, the woman behind the documentary (and book) crazysexycancer. She was amazing on the show; so real, so open and so honest about her life and her ideas. She had more life in her, after having recieved essentially a death sentence, than just about anyone I've ever met. And then there was Randy Pausch, the professor who's "last lecture," has been sent around the world. He did a shortened version of it on the show and I cried. Find it on the internet and watch it or go get his book. It was truly one of the most moving things I have ever seen.
And then, a quote I found years ago on a notecard at some store in Floyd, has been coming back to me a lot recently:
"Perhaps grace is realizing that it's not all about you. Perhaps grace is knowing that people are doing what they're doing for their own reasons, not yours."
This, I think, is my own personal battle (or at least part of it). I tend to take a lot on from other people, a lot that isn't given to me. If someone is upset, my first assumption is to assume it's something I did. I think, what can I do to make it better (even if I have no idea what the "it" is), or how can I just make this other person happy with me. But you know, it isn't about me. What other people are doing, are feeling, are thinking-- chances are it's not about me. It's not that I'm self-centered, I think I just have this desire to "fix" things. Now don't get me wrong; I know I've hurt people (usually unintentionally) and when I have, I do want to make it better, and I usually will make that effort when I've been made known when something is wrong. But the problem is that I tend to assume there's a problem with me when it maybe just be something someone else is dealing with and needs to deal with on their own.
But I digress. I've always wanted to be a good person. My friends make me want to be a good friend, because I am thankful for their friendships. Being with Jason makes me want to be a better Katrina; since I've been with him, I've felt so much more comfortable in my own skin, which in turn has allowed me to be, I think (hope?) a better me. And now becoming a mom-- this next step in discovering other ways to be a better friend, a better coworker, a better teacher, a better daughter, a better granddaughter, a better wife, a better mom. Again, cheesy but true: life truly is about the journey.

Links you may be interested in:
crazy.sexy.cancer http://www.crazysexycancer.com/
Randy Pausch http://download.srv.cs.cmu.edu/~pausch/