Vacay 2012, NEIGH-bours in Witless Bay, NL
It’s ironic. Just as I’m launching my new website and blog, my son, approaching nine, becomes self-conscious. And assertive.
“Are you writing about me?” he asks me. (This isn’t exactly narcissistic since I do write about him a lot.) Then he tells me that if I do, he wants to know about it, and review it first.
Developmentally, this is right on cue. And I did expect this reckoning. But now that it’s here—me with a story to tell (all catlike, guilty feathers sticking out of my mouth), and him, hands-on- hips, calling me out—I realize this is more than a journalistic dilemma. We’ve come to another one of those parenting crossroads. What worked yesterday just doesn’t cut it today.
His growth tells me, once again that, just as he is changing, I need to change too. What we were so recently, cut-up grapes, and Mommy-and-me classes, that’s gone. His blind faith in me, also evolving. I know something brilliant will rise from the ashes. We will discover how to make it work and it's a wonderful process. But each time it happens, I always feel—mixed in with my pride at his healthy displays of independence—a little stab of mourning. All that giving, then the letting go, ever reassessing and adjusting, such a tricky part of parenting.
I reassure my son that my blog won’t share embarrassing stories about him. In fact, it’s really more about me. When Zach was born, I stepped away from corporate writing to enjoy his early years. Then when he started school, I began to resurrect my freelance writing career. As he made friends in JK and mastered his pencil grip, I wrote query letters and started landing writing assignments.
Today, I’ve got a healthy, and growing, body of work. I’ve created my website to feature that and make it available for clients and readers. Alongside, my blog will expand on the issues I’m writing about, give some of the back story, and ask you to weigh in.
My next blog post (where I don't mention my son at all!!), talks about food waste. I'm passionate about this issue, have just written about it, and let's be honest, I've been guilty here too. Check it out, and let's talk.
“Are you writing about me?” he asks me. (This isn’t exactly narcissistic since I do write about him a lot.) Then he tells me that if I do, he wants to know about it, and review it first.
Developmentally, this is right on cue. And I did expect this reckoning. But now that it’s here—me with a story to tell (all catlike, guilty feathers sticking out of my mouth), and him, hands-on- hips, calling me out—I realize this is more than a journalistic dilemma. We’ve come to another one of those parenting crossroads. What worked yesterday just doesn’t cut it today.
His growth tells me, once again that, just as he is changing, I need to change too. What we were so recently, cut-up grapes, and Mommy-and-me classes, that’s gone. His blind faith in me, also evolving. I know something brilliant will rise from the ashes. We will discover how to make it work and it's a wonderful process. But each time it happens, I always feel—mixed in with my pride at his healthy displays of independence—a little stab of mourning. All that giving, then the letting go, ever reassessing and adjusting, such a tricky part of parenting.
I reassure my son that my blog won’t share embarrassing stories about him. In fact, it’s really more about me. When Zach was born, I stepped away from corporate writing to enjoy his early years. Then when he started school, I began to resurrect my freelance writing career. As he made friends in JK and mastered his pencil grip, I wrote query letters and started landing writing assignments.
Today, I’ve got a healthy, and growing, body of work. I’ve created my website to feature that and make it available for clients and readers. Alongside, my blog will expand on the issues I’m writing about, give some of the back story, and ask you to weigh in.
My next blog post (where I don't mention my son at all!!), talks about food waste. I'm passionate about this issue, have just written about it, and let's be honest, I've been guilty here too. Check it out, and let's talk.
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