Happy New Year! I suppose 2010 deserves a warm welcome, eh? Considering the events of the later half of 2009, I’m only too relieved to see a new year and a new “decade”. Â I hope you all had an amazing holiday season. We suffered some set-backs here at Chez Wonder—which I’ll talk about later in the week. But, despite the trauma, I think we’d all agree that this season had its moments of magic. And I think we reveled in the most precious treasure we have: our little family.
Anyhow, there will be time for reflection on this past holiday. Maybe? But right now, I’m looking forward. I hope you are as well!
I’ll confess, I don’t do New Year’s Resolutions any longer. I quit a few years back when I realized that my list was the same, year in year out, decade in. . . And that really, what I was crafting was a list of my potential failures. Some people do really well with their lists and goals. I am not one of them. So, I stopped making resolutions and started envisioning a theme for each New Year. Something to set the tone and shape what I worked on through the year.
It’s amazing how revolutionary this simple change was for my life. Last year’s them was “Lighter”. As in, getting lighter Spiritually, Emotionally, and Physically. Â And because there weren’t specific goals like, “I’ll lose 10 lbs” there was no sense of failure, despite the fact that I didn’t lose a lot of weight last year. Instead, because I chose a theme, I really explored what it meant to be lighter. To choose things that didn’t weigh me down, to do things that created the sense of lightness I was craving. So, no real weight loss—but I found myself working out regularly! Building muscle and endurance meant I felt more physically fit! And really, being able to run means more than my pant size!
My mind is whriling today. I’m torn between busting an Acorn move (order, orders, orders), pouring new candles because I have an idea, and deep cleaning my pitiful house. It’s appalling. I’m embarrassed and shamed by the grime.
Yet, here I am blogging. I’m the Queen of Procrastination once again.
My  child is turning 13 in twelve short days so,  I’ve been thinking a great deal about motherhood — and by extension, the process of blogging about mothering. Although, in lots of respects, most “mommy bloggers” are really blogging about their kids, it’s still a practice (we hope!) of reflection.  The premise is, you become a parent, your bundle of joy arrives without an instruction manual, and you blog your learning curve as a way of journaling your frustrations, joys, and serving as an all-around precautionary tale to the rest of parenthood.
Plus, your kid is damn cute, and that kind of cuteness should be shared with the world!
Well, that’s how it would have gone down if blogging had been around when I was a brand-new parent. However, by the time I entered the scene, my child was quickly becoming an oppositional 3 year old and I didn’t really want to tell the world too much about his clever attempts at thwarting my authority. I mean, it’s OK to admit you’ve been out-maneuvered by a toddler once in a while—but everyday? I had no intention of becoming  your favorite train-wreck of a read.
We were also in over our heads learning to parent a child who had different needs than our parenting philosophy met. And that kind of pain, for me at least, was private. So, I seasoned Evidently with bits of my child. Mostly the good bits. Because when you are parenting a child who is  borderline (our eternal thanks to the firm yet understanding Psychologist who put us on the path to wholeness.) oppositional, it’s important to see parenting as a LONG term process and to focus on the positives and the potential. Progress, not perfection became our family slogan.
I’ve taken some flack for it. Ocassionaly I get a snarky comment (delete, delete, delete) or an angry email suggesting my “boy wonder” is too perfect. All because I choose to see the progress and the potential.
He’s not perfect. But his failings are none-of-your-business. No matter how funny or charming or witty they might seem in retrospect. No one wants their mother to broadcast every point of their growth curve to the world. No matter how funny or charming or witty their mother makes it all sound in the writing.
So, I’ve been very careful about saying too much. Too much good, too much not so good. Because I wouldn’t want to read a blogger who can’t shut up about how great her child is, any more than I’ll read a blogger who is non-stop negative about parenting. And mostly, because there are boundaries to be maintained. Each of us must establish them for our own relationships. Your child might not mind your constant blogging about them. My child, at almost 13, does. And we’ve established the do’s and don’ts of blogging about him. I still write what I write, but I’m respectful of the boundaries he has set for telling his own story. (I can write about the past without censure. The present is off limits for the most part. And always read to him prior to publishing.)
Because ultimately, these are his stories. His life I’m writing. Sure, I’m reflecting about the process of mothering—which is my story. But I am not alone in it! At two  and three and six and seven, we get, as parents, the ultimate joy of telling our story. But with that joy comes some responsibility. I still read several bloggers who will be paying for therapy in the near future for their sweet cherubs. I bite my tongue, because unsolicited advice is never welcome. But I’ll throw-up a warning flare on this blog: be careful what you write (and say!). The internet is forever, and you may think you have a shoe-in to a forever relationship with your child by simply being their parent. You DO NOT. Trust me on this. Words can be forgiven, but they cannot be unsaid.
Some of you are chronicling, in the most loving and refreshing way, the stories your children will want to hear. My child still loves to hear stories of his past. Even the hard stuff. “I did that? Noooo!” Â Or, “Wow, mom, that was really bratty. I’m sorry.” or “Ha! I was kinda smart at five, right?” Yes, yes you were. Â It’s a worthwhile endeavor, if done with some sense of propriety—although finding the line, and crossing it seems to also be part of the process.
But my child is not two or three, he’s not six or seven. His shoe size and his willingness to reflect on his babyhood with some perspective points to what has quickly become my reality: I am parenting a young man. And with that, comes more challenges, more joy, and probably a lot less of me talking about it in public.
If we’re lucky, he’ll find his voice and tell you all about it on his blog. In the meantime, I’m going to quietly marvel at the progress we are making at establishing an adult relationship. We’re not there yet; but then again, perfection is not our goal.
I’ve been trying for the past 90 minutes to put a post up here on Evidently. 90 minutes of staring at my screen and not really wanting to write—but feeling a bit guilty for not updating sooner.
So, I wasted a bit of time hunting around the internet for inspiration, a few minutes more listening to KROQ hoping to find a musical muse. Then, I turned to twitter and had a few really great laughs with friends online.
And, that wasn’t really blogging. (I don’t care if they do call it micro-blogging, who are we kidding?) But, it was theraputic. Laughter always is. And right now, I need laughter more than I need to write out all that ails.
So, if you’re around and inclined—you can always join me on Twitter. It’s my virtual version of “tea and sympathy”. There is something about writing in short spurts that makes it impossible to define my life in negative terms. It’s a practice of editing and really considering, weighing what you’re going to say that appeals to me. And the fact that it’s OUT there, for the world  (or at least my stream) to see. And sometimes, like when I ask Santa for cleaning elves for Christmas or I lament  over a blasted head-cold I find, that I am not alone.
And then, there is the laughter. At what people say. What people say to me. And the overwhelming feeling that there is joy to be found. In 140 characters, in the midst of head-colds and money worries and general malaise that is December. . . there is joy.
So, if you ask me why I use Twitter, I’m always going to come back to those three little characters, joy. Although, I’ll probably use another 137, because I can.
We’re in the midst of a 36 hour blow. Two storms, really. The second front moved in this afternoon and we’re holding our breath that the power stays on. I thought you might like to hear the sound of Oregon in November. (and I’m on the end of it, if you listen closely!).
Our home is being featured over on Indie Fixx today. And  I thought all you Evidently readers would like to see the photos I submitted. Not all of them were used, but I was really flattered to have our little house included in the feature. Long term readers will recognize some of these photos, but a few are new, and now they’re all grouped together in one place. You’ll notice, there are no pictures of our favorite refrigerator!
I was thinking I needed a change but wasn’t really ready to hack off all my hair. I’m not all that distressed, despite kinda hating the new bangs. The crows feet on my eyes have me in a much greater dither—and the realization that I have hooded eyes. Â How did I not notice that after all these years? Â I spend as little time in front of a mirror as possible, but surely, I would notice the shape of my eyes. Right?
Anyhow, I’m putting up the photos as a sort of “proof” of my stupidity. (and for Heather, who started this  whole big bang theory on Facebook!) So that the next time I get to hankering for a change, I’ll rethink the “cut your hair” approach.  Next time, I’m going to go for the “Buy a New Wardrobe” approach. Or considering those crows feet, “Consider Dermabrasion” approach. Anything, but the bangs.
(and a total aside, my hairdresser is fabulous. I’m not loving the bangs, but that’s hardly her fault; I did ask for a change and something different.)
