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. 

PottyTrainingOhMyGawd.

Having a stepson, this is my second go round with the potty training experience.  Like we learned the last time, it's really best not to push too hard and they'll get it when they're ready.  Inevitably, when you push, the tiny humans push back and it all just ends up one big peeing-in-your-pants mess.

Now, that being said, we're not really pushing... just encouraging.  Heavily.  There are weeks when he uses the potty all day, every day (almost).  He will ask to go to the potty or even just go when he feels the need.  He wears underwear and successfully keeps them dry all.day.long.  He hasn't pooped in his pants for weeks on end.  Until this week. This week, he reverted.  This week, he peed in every single pair of underwear.  This week, he peed on the floor.  This week, he peed on our bed.  This week, he pooped in his pants.  I am so totally disgusted.  I thought we were *there*. I thought that by the end of the year, I would only be buying pull-ups for overnights.  We've used the "big boy" ploy, the sticker chart, the rewards (which is why currently watch How To Train Your Dragon just about everyday). He keeps asking to go to school with me, that he wants to be in school.  My response is that he can be in school when he doesn't need to wear pull-ups during the day and can use the potty by himself. Le sigh.

To be fair, he was sick early on this week.  He spent most of Sunday night puking on either me, his dad or the bed in between us and had such little energy on Monday that I didn't push the issue. I can't say that's why this week has been rough, but whatever the reason is, it sucks.  I swear, if another parent tells me how easy it was for their son or daughter to potty train, how they did it by themselves/before they were 2/never had an accident or offers me some suggestion like making them clean up their own poop mess (which my child just finds funny because he's such a boy), I am going to kick them in the shins.