And I'll Bet "Gilmore girls" is a Rerun
Last night's babysitting gig scored me many cookies. That made me happy. What made me less happy was the discovery that my laptop battery is only good for one game of "Age of Mythology" before going into hibernation.
So there I was. No laptop and I couldn't figure out how to make their DirectTV work. I'd eaten as many hamentaschen as seemed appropriate and hadn't brought a book with me. The search for magazines turned up nary a Vanity Fair, New Yorker or even Good Housekeeping. There was a stash of parenting magazines, specifically, parenting magazines for people with children under the age of 10. Been there, done that. But everything else in the house was in Hebrew, which is not one of my languages, so I settled for a 5 month old issue of "Child". Therein I discovered a movement called "Attachment Parenting" which apparently has as it's hallmarks things like co-sleeping, breastfeeding and carrying the baby/child around in a sling. Turns out that a dozen years ago I was cutting edge and didn't realize it. (Although apparently there's all sorts of new research on the risks of co-sleeping which wasn't available 12 years ago so all I can say is, "Oops. Sorry". And strictly speaking, I didn't use a sling because I didn't have one. I just carried her around a lot).
Frankly, too much information is a bad thing. If we really knew everything there was to know about parenting, trust me, no one would take it on. It can be the greatest joy you'll ever experience. It is also relentless. Once you're in, you are never not a parent. And sometimes that sucks. It sucks when you have to watch them struggle, be hurt, and make less than stellar choices. What happens if they grow up and vote for the other party? You love them anyway, of course. It's your child. But it can suck.
It really sucks when you devote your energies to instilling values only to find out that you probably have to go to school and have a "come to Jesus" with your kid and the teacher because your kid was caught in a questionable situation (no, it's not sex...sheesh) and then compounded her dubious behavior with a lie. Not that I know anyone in that situation, but I can imagine the mixture of emotions a parent might feel, the gut-twisting that embraces both humiliation and disappointment. On one hand, you'd feel that you had completely failed as a parent. On the other, you'd have a seething desire just to wring her neck. Or his neck, as the case may be. Again, not that I'd know from personal experience.
I did, once, step barefoot on a Lego. That, my friends, is a special kind of pain.
Labels: Gilmore girls, hamentashen
8 Comments:
Children, Offspring, rather, now that we are talking 23, 19, 17, and 15. There have been embarrassing moral failures, some comical, some leaving you wondering how a child of yours could have no concept of compassion, helping another in desperate need, or any of a number of "really important things". Then I roll back to a few memories of my personal less than stellar moments as a child, and see that some stuff I figured out eventually. It will be alright.
Legos: the most versatile, pointy toys around. Love 'em.
Age of Mythology: Superb game. Less pointy.
Rerun it is. And you know who I blame.
Edy, Thank you for the encouragement, it was very helpful. Or rather, will be, should The Child ever display any lack of moral fiber.
Pat: Age of Mythology is a superb and less pointy game. You can play it in your barefeet.
jpdc: When did that bitch Condi start working in programming at the WB? Damn the GOP.
you mean yours has never tried to throw its kitten out a second story window? Never stolen 8 real estate signs from a competitor's company, leaving you to drive around in the darkness, finding some obscure place where you can dump them off, but where they will still be found? Never made prank phone calls to every business in town, including THE PHONE COMPANY?
Edy:
My child? You mean the one who's labor would have been shorter but they had never delivered a halo before? The one who's farts smell like the gentle breath of a dying rose? Although she is only 12. I suppose there's still time...
I meant "whose". Damn English majors.
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