Thursday, October 15, 2026

Dusting Off the Blog

 Written January 2023 and never got published. Looks like I didn't finish it...or continue blogging. Oops!

This isn't a thing anymore. Nobody blogs. And I know I have no audience. Except one. He's 8 and he desperately wants to know stories about his life the way I wrote stories about his older siblings' lives.

I feel like I cheated him a little bit in this department.

Not only that, I forget how to write.

I have re-read my old posts and they were good, but my writing has become...well, rusty.

But for the love of my 8 year old, here we go.

Today is a great day to start. After one semester of homeschool, we have sent Trace, the 8 year old, back to public school. Well, a charter school, but you know...other kids and out of my house.

Homeschool was so much fun in a lot of ways.

Homeschool was really hard in other ways.

And in some ways, homeschool was the worst.


The Only Thing Worse Than Having Something Bad Happen To Your Child....

written sept. 27, 2017 and for some reason, never got published:

I've been thinking about this a lot lately. Perhaps it was this article that led me to these thoughts, or the fact that every move I make with my children I feel it's like a game of chess...I always have to think 10 steps ahead to what might happen if I say or do something and how it might affect them tomorrow, next week, or 10 years from now. Will someone report me to CPS if they find out my 3 year old uses scissors? If I leave him playing with a toy at the library while I look for a book will police come running in to say I am neglectful? Honestly, sometimes it feels like you can't even breathe as a parent these days. There are so many ways you can be deemed "unfit" as a parent. Invesitations are just around the corner for all of us. It's scary.

Did our parents deal with this? I'm pretty sure no. They raised us. They gave us food, shelter, clothes and told us to stay out of trouble. The end. I roamed the neighborhood endlessly with my brother and cousin for hours on end. When I was 4 I got out of the house by myself somehow (there were 6 of us and I was the youngest and there was a lot of in and out with kids playing). I made it to the end of our street, which was a fairly busy street, and luckily a policeman found me. He took me back to my house, rang the doorbell and my mom answered with me standing next to the cop. I think I even told him it wasn't necessary to ring the doorbell, he could just come in with me since I lived there. But he said he'd rather ring the bell. My mom answered the door with wide eyes. He simply explained that he found me at the end of the street. She apologized and explained. He said, I understand, have a great day. I wasn't interviewed. I wasn't taken away from my parents. There was no investigation launched on my mom. It was an accident. And 35 years ago everyone understood what that word meant. So WHY have we decided, as this next generation of parents, that we must protect our kids from anything bad happening ever. And that if others don't do it they are the epitome of evil? I believe it stems from the fact that we want to control every situation and outcome in our lives. We want to prevent anything bad happening to our kids and with moral indignation we want to make sure everyone else prevents the way we do. But is that really a great approach to parenting? To life?

I believe the only thing worse than having something bad happen to your child is having nothing bad happen to your child.

We are raising a generation of entitled and ungrateful kids. 

I think we all know that challenges, in some regard, are good for kids and adults alike. You need them to learn and to grow. But maybe, just maybe, we can manufacture just the right kind and the right amount of challenges for our children while protecting them from every other bad thing in this world. In other words, we try to control every aspect of their life. And it is making us crazy. Crazy towards each other. Crazy in our own lives. And it's ruining kids, who will be the next adults, btw.