Today, I have to feel a little ashamed: with all the horribleness in the world (wars, famines, global warming) I'm whining about having to shlep a child to softball. I should be glad I'm not shlepping someone to chemo.
Also, I have a lot of sewing projects I'm not finishing. I keep imagining more stuff I want to make, but yet I'm not getting the work done. I have some art project ideas, too, and those are firmly relegated to Someday In The Future, which probably won't come before the day I slip on a slimy magnolia petal and break my neck. (Please remember: my dying wish will be for someone to chop that fucker down. Avenge my death!) One of my art project ideas is somewhat pornographic (don't ask, I'm not going to describe it because it really is a good idea and if someone else does it first, then I'll never do it, and I'm selfish and would rather have my idea die with me at the hands/petals of that damn tree). That raises the issue of whether it is appropriate for me to do an art project which is not to be shown to the children. Life was easier when Iris Uber Alles was preliterate.
i'm sure your "vagina coffee cup warmer" will turn out fine.
i assume you probably do a few things which aren't appropriate to show to the children, this blog included. one more probably wouldn't put a dent in your parent-worth.
Now comes the guilt.
I've been thinking about this through out the evening--no, not your adult-entertainment rated genius idea, but the whole "activity" thing.
Around here we have a saying, "Tail waggin' the dog, missy!" when the children's activities become the be-all and end-all of our lives. As in: I forgot to tell you I need toe pads, so you need to cancel your plans to get me them before tonight's performance.
I do agree that whims can't run the family. Once mine got serious about ballet, they had to choose between ballet and other activities like Girl Scouts or tennis. The older one was good about that. The younger one would say, "I have Thursdays open at 4, why can't I add another thing."
I had a student last year, when I asked him if he was going to the basketball summer camp at the high school, snapped back, "My mom says she's not getting up that early."
The camp started at nine. It was five minutes or so from his home.
It wasn't so much that his mother wouldn't do it. It was that he was surrounded by kids whose mothers would.
I see nothing wrong with complaining mightily all the way to and fro to the activity...because at least you are doing it!
Hughman, Iris Uber Alles actually reads this blog from time to time. I dread the day when she will find it embarrassing; now, she thinks it's cool.
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