A blog, like any diary or journal, is a place for contemplation, for open expression, for confession, even. Part of what makes it possible for me to put these thoughts out for public view is the blanket of anonymity I can pull around myself. Much like the grille in a confessional, this screen lets me be perfectly candid and completely concealed at the same time. I could be any parent; every parent.
But is that true for everyone who might read these posts? More specifically, is it true for those who are most dear to me and whose opinions are most important, my children? True, the oldest one is just learning to read and the youngest is still vacillating between looking at the pages and chewing them, but the internet is forever. These words will still be here when they're old enough to understand.
When I'm moved to write, it's about the crazy, strange, or downright frustrating moments of my day...but these aren't the normal moments. Normally, my kids are good kids, they bring me happiness, delight, and of course, some grey hair. That's okay; I don't begrudge them the grey hair...I drove my own mother to purchase several boxes of L'Oreal Preference Dark Ash Blonde in my youth.
If my kids read this blog when they get older, will they understand that? Will they know how much I love them, how happy I am that they are exactly who they are, even through my kvetching? That though I rail against RC's dawdling, I love the fact that she is so perceptive and can appreciate everything around her to the fullest? That even as Mouse drives me crazy with her stubbornness, she also amazes me with her determination? I complain to release my frustration, and what's left...is gratitude.
thank you for my children
thank you for my children
thank you thank you thank you
thank you for my children
thank you thank you thank you
