Mommy Liar

“Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny–I’ve been jerkin’ your chain since you were born!” Sophia Petrillo

 

Generally speaking, the truth is better than a lie.  Lies complicate things, they ruin trust, and they hurt people.  Start with the truth, and you won’t have to worry.

Generally speaking.

We watched the movie “Liar, Liar” the other day, and my son commented, “What would it be like to never be able to lie?”  I just shrugged, but I know what went through my mind.

It would be very hard to parent, for one thing.

Before anyone says something stupid about how you should always tell the truth, stop.  Did you tell your kids to believe in Santa Clause?  How about the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy?  Well, you say, those are just harmless lies.  Fine.  But on that same note, there are some truths that do not necessarily need to be shared with children. 

My son is a very intelligent child with his feet solidly based in reality.  However, he’s very naive about certain things.  I know I can’t protect him from ever finding out about the big mean world, but why shove him into it face first?  When he asks questions about something he hears or sees, sometimes I feel like the truth is necessary, and sometimes I smoothly skate by the issue with a few well-chosen words.  My husband remarked once, “Should it worry me how quickly you can come up with that stuff?”  What can I say?  Sometimes my over-active imagination comes in handy.

Now that he’s getting older, I have to be careful.  I want to maintain trust, and still protect him.  It’s a fine line to walk.  There are some questions he hasn’t asked, and that’s ok for now.  We have a pretty open relationship, and I think sometimes he knows maybe I’m not giving him the whole story. 

A good word that comes to mind is “discretion.”  Contrary to what some people think of me, I do not speak everything that pops into my brain.  And a good thing, that, believe me.  Sometimes I hear people say things about how they are telling someone something because “it’s for their own good,” or they are “trying to do the right thing.”  But I wonder…..

The right thing for who, exactly?  I know this is the cliché version of “it’s okay to lie,” but really, what do you say when someone asks you how they look?  Or if you like their new hair cut?  Or their shoes?  The truth is, it doesn’t matter if you like any of those things, as long as they are happy with them, but it will still hurt if you say “Oh God, I think I’m going to be sick!” So you don’t.

My son is no different.  He recently picked out a pair of shoes that I don’t particularly care for, and he loves them.  So you know what?  I love them, too.  I wish he would get his hair cut, but I don’t say so.  There are lots of things about my own past that are true, but he really doesn’t need to know about them, does he? 

His life is pretty uncomplicated right now.  He has a fairly black and white view of things, and there’s nothing wrong with that.  He’s only eleven.  I figure life will give him plenty of reality before it’s all said and done.  My job is to keep him as safe and happy as possible, because I’m his mother. 

Also, I’m a damn good liar.

Black Tuesday (or, Mommy had a Meltdown)

     It’s funny, isn’t it, how little, unrelated events can combine and conspire against you?  How a simple task–for example, returning a shirt to Kohl’s–can take an ordinary day and turn it into so much smoking rubble.

     I won’t pretend I was at my finest this morning.  Monday night ended on a rather sour note, but I tried very hard to move on and have a good day today.  Matt, the kids and I went to run a couple of errands, and we went in Kohl’s while we were out.  Evelyn, who rarely ever shows interest in toys or books, saw a little Toy Story book set.  She loves the movies, and she was enthralled by the books in their handy little box (with a handle and everything) and immediately picked them up and smiled.  It didn’t cost much, so of course I was going to buy it for her.  All I ever buy her is clothes.  That’s all anyone ever buys her, because she doesn’t really care about anything else.  (She doesn’t care about the clothes, either, but she has to have them.) 

     Meanwhile, my son (who is eleven, if you don’t know) picked up some sort of toy car and said, “I’m getting this.”  I said, “No, you’re not.”  Ian wasn’t happy.  He wanted the car.  I told him no again, and I was fighting not to be irritable with him.  Then he said, “Then why does she get to have something?”

     Now, a good mother, a special  mother, would have taken this golden opportunity to teach the child, to tell him that he had so much and was so fortunate to have all that he did, and calmly and quietly call the matter closed.  Mother has spoken.

     Have you seen the title of my blog?

     Of all of the things about myself that I don’t like, the most despicable thing, the thing I hate the most, is how I have to battle hurt by dishing out more hurt–a childish, spiteful defense mechanism that I’ve had my whole life.  All of my frustration, my bitterness, my anger, and yes, my pain, boiled right to the surface.  I naturally have acid in my mouth, the kind that burns, and sometimes it splashes out.  Poor old Ian got it today.

     I didn’t make a scene in Kohl’s.  What I did do was tell him to put the car back right now.  When he came stomping back (and oh! how that look on his face and that stomping gate just ran all over me) I grabbed his arm and leaned to his ear and said, “What did we buy Evelyn when we were buying all of those clothes last week? Or the big pirate ship? How about your cell phone, or your iPod, or your DSI, or any of the other stuff she can’t play with? You don’t give a crap about her when everything is being done for you, which is all of the time! Now she can’t have a Toy Story book?”  I then turned my back on him and walked away.  But I wasn’t finished–oh no, not me, mother of the year. 

     I know I had a right to say something to him–his attitude and his behavior were out of line.  I just couldn’t be satisfied with that, though, because for whatever reason, all of that crap that lies in wait, hiding in the various nooks and crannies of my mind, popped out like some horrid Jack-in-the-box from hell.  Evelyn–who is ten, and by all rights should be interested in toys, dolls, cell phones, iPods, and video games–isn’t interested in any of those things, and can’t operate them.  Maybe she never will.  And it breaks my heart–crushes the soul right of me sometimes, a hideous weight of despair and anger that never really goes away.  None of that is Ian’s fault, but I saw him through a red haze today, and I lashed out at him.  I cold shouldered him, because I know he can’t stand that, I know it hurts his feelings, and I wanted to hurt his feelings.  I told him in the van I thought he was the most spoiled, selfish, ungrateful child I had ever seen.  I told him he should be ashamed.

     The shame, though, lies only with me.  He is only an eleven-year-old kid who wanted a toy car.  When Evelyn’s problems came to the forefront all of those years ago, I swore I wouldn’t make him lead the life of a disabled child because his sister was disabled.  I grew up as the sister of a disabled child, and it’s hard.  I remember distinctly feeling at times that it was always about Mindy, never about me, that I didn’t matter as much.  I felt punished for being normal, like I didn’t have a right to have a normal, happy life because Mindy didn’t have one.  I know that wasn’t the reality of it, it was just how I felt.  Ian would never feel that way.

     Right.

     Raising a child with special needs is a challenge, a subject that fills many books, but raising their siblings can be infinitely more complicated and precarious.  You’re always on the razor edge, ready to fall.  Today I fell.

     Thankfully, Ian is a much better person than I am.  Later, when we were alone, he said, “I’m sorry for being such a jerk today in Kohl’s.”  The last of the fire went out.  I said, “No, Ian, I’m sorry for being such a jerk today in Kohl’s.”  Things are okay with us, like always, but I hate what happened.  I hate that person–that spiteful, hurtful person–and I have no idea why I can’t remember how much I hate her when I feel her coming to the surface.  All of this crap belongs to me, not Evelyn or Ian or Mindy or Matt, but they are the ones who suffer for it.  Thank heavens they love me enough to tolerate it, and forgive me.  I don’t deserve it.  Today was absolutely a not so special day.

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...