There is a stack of dirty dishes in the sink, unopened mail on the counter, and the remains of Logan’s dinner are still on the table and the floor. These things need my attention. But the truth is that I don’t feel like doing them. And even if I do clean them tonight, more will take their place in the morning. And while my writing doesn’t change the world, I like the idea of being able to return to it someday, to remember where my mind was on September 4, 2013. I know if the night slips by me and is only filled with laundry detergent and those amazing magical erasers, it will be forgotten.
Logan came into my “creative space” the other day looking both serious and too subdued for a three-year-old. (For the record, I know how obnoxious it is to call it m”my creative space.” However, I’ve tried calling it my office, and that’s not accurate. I don’t think I’ve earned the right to call it a “studio.” Besides, all types of creativity happen there from decopaging to noveling, so it’s what I’m going with. Please let me know if you have a less suburban term.) So he’s looking at me without saying anything, and I’m seized with the mild panic associated with the lack of sound moments before the wail. With infants, it’s an actual cry. With preschoolers, it’s setting you up for the unveiling, the what have they done now, the proverbial calm before the storm.
“Mama, I have to tell you something.”
I am imagining markers on all of the walls, poop in places where poop shouldn’t be, and the flatscreen broken in two (if that sort of thing is possible.)
“What is it honey?”
“Sometimes….Sometimes it’s hard to tell the truth.”
Ain’t that the truth. I asked him if he lied about something, and he insisted that he hadn’t. He then ran off to play with his Octamus Crime (aka Optimus Prime) and Dyranosaurus Rex (aka Tyrannosaurus Rex.) Of course, I had to go investigate every room. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe him, but he said it himself, “sometimes it’s hard to tell the truth.”
His words stuck with me throughout the rest of the day, as I wondered where they came from. At three, he can’t begin to understand the weight of those words. Most of us lie all the time, to ourselves, to each other, in false smiles and held back tears. We pretend like we have it all together, and allow ourselves to be convinced by the facades of others. We lie because we don’t want to there to be hurt feelings or awkward moments. We lie because, at least for the moment, it is easier than the truth. These lies change us though. The small compromises etch away at the vulnerability that makes us human. We settle for the veneer, even though we know there has to be more underneath. It takes courage to peel it away. It takes bravery to say, “This is me.”
While I like to think Logan is uber intelligent, the idea of him sitting around Socratizing is a little unnerving. So I was rather relieved to see the episode of “JoJo’s Circus” this morning. Upon entering clown school, she is told not to press the orange button. However, when the teacher leaves the room, she can’t resist the urge. It turns out to be a pie tossing machine, naturally, and the room is quickly covered in pie. She scrambles to clean it up with the help of her sidekick Goliath the Lion. (Isn’t that the perfect name for a lion sidekick?) Miraculously, she is able to get it cleaned up before the teacher, who has conveniently been gone a very long time, returns. However, the guilt is too much, and she confesses. At the end of the episode, she summarizes what she has learned saying, you guessed it, “Sometimes it’s hard to tell the truth.” In turn, the teacher said she knew the entire time, but she was proud of JoJo for being honest.
If you are reading this, I know how hard it is to tell the truth. And even though we already knew, we are proud of you.
Logan came into my “creative space” the other day looking both serious and too subdued for a three-year-old. (For the record, I know how obnoxious it is to call it m”my creative space.” However, I’ve tried calling it my office, and that’s not accurate. I don’t think I’ve earned the right to call it a “studio.” Besides, all types of creativity happen there from decopaging to noveling, so it’s what I’m going with. Please let me know if you have a less suburban term.) So he’s looking at me without saying anything, and I’m seized with the mild panic associated with the lack of sound moments before the wail. With infants, it’s an actual cry. With preschoolers, it’s setting you up for the unveiling, the what have they done now, the proverbial calm before the storm.
“Mama, I have to tell you something.”
I am imagining markers on all of the walls, poop in places where poop shouldn’t be, and the flatscreen broken in two (if that sort of thing is possible.)
“What is it honey?”
“Sometimes….Sometimes it’s hard to tell the truth.”
Ain’t that the truth. I asked him if he lied about something, and he insisted that he hadn’t. He then ran off to play with his Octamus Crime (aka Optimus Prime) and Dyranosaurus Rex (aka Tyrannosaurus Rex.) Of course, I had to go investigate every room. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe him, but he said it himself, “sometimes it’s hard to tell the truth.”
His words stuck with me throughout the rest of the day, as I wondered where they came from. At three, he can’t begin to understand the weight of those words. Most of us lie all the time, to ourselves, to each other, in false smiles and held back tears. We pretend like we have it all together, and allow ourselves to be convinced by the facades of others. We lie because we don’t want to there to be hurt feelings or awkward moments. We lie because, at least for the moment, it is easier than the truth. These lies change us though. The small compromises etch away at the vulnerability that makes us human. We settle for the veneer, even though we know there has to be more underneath. It takes courage to peel it away. It takes bravery to say, “This is me.”
While I like to think Logan is uber intelligent, the idea of him sitting around Socratizing is a little unnerving. So I was rather relieved to see the episode of “JoJo’s Circus” this morning. Upon entering clown school, she is told not to press the orange button. However, when the teacher leaves the room, she can’t resist the urge. It turns out to be a pie tossing machine, naturally, and the room is quickly covered in pie. She scrambles to clean it up with the help of her sidekick Goliath the Lion. (Isn’t that the perfect name for a lion sidekick?) Miraculously, she is able to get it cleaned up before the teacher, who has conveniently been gone a very long time, returns. However, the guilt is too much, and she confesses. At the end of the episode, she summarizes what she has learned saying, you guessed it, “Sometimes it’s hard to tell the truth.” In turn, the teacher said she knew the entire time, but she was proud of JoJo for being honest.
If you are reading this, I know how hard it is to tell the truth. And even though we already knew, we are proud of you.