Once Bitten, Twice Wry
Even my most faithful readers have no doubt given up on me following my two-week post drought. I have an explanation, if you will humor me a moment, and then a real entry.
The thing is, I've been a bit terrified of blogging since I reentered the workaday world. I'm spending about 50% less time with my kids during the week since I started working in April, and I find that some of the stuff I'm wanting to write about focuses on ME rather than on THEM. This fact has been a slap in the face for a woman (every woman?) who returns to the workforce after being at home for a while and struggles with the "self"-ishness of this decision. 'If I'm thinking so much about myself,' I reason, 'that I can only come up with blog content that centers on MY experience, then I MUST be a greedy person and (yes, here it comes) a BAD MOTHER.'
And we all know there's no reasoning with the voice of irrational guilt. So all I can say is this: there it is.
Now on to the real content, which just so happens to be about one of my children. (Irrational Guilt 0, Lisa 1).
If you've been with Strandblog for a while, you'll recall a post entitled, "When Sarcasm Bites Back." This was written the day I realized that my four-year-old was beginning to grasp that most snarky of linguistic tools. Based on an exchange yesterday, it seems he has indeed been bitten by the sarcasm bug.
We had just dropped my beloved off for yet another business trip, and none of us were too happy about it. This was evident in the expressions I saw on our kids' faces as I stood outside the car at the terminal while Daddy, still in the passenger seat, bid them farewell...for the fifth time in two months. The corners of their mouths hung down, and they looked at their father from beneath lowered eyelids. (When I shortened my focal distance just a bit, my reflection in the car window revealed a similar sad pout on my own face.)
When we had slogged through the sweet sorrow of parting and were making our way out the airport driveway, I asked my son, "How do you feel about Daddy leaving again?"
He was silent, so I asked again. "How does Daddy going away again make you feel, honey?"
His response was deadpan. "Great," he said.
"Great?!" I exclaimed, my surprise evident. "You feel great about Daddy leaving?"
"Well," he said, not impatiently but kindly and by way of explanation, "not the regular great but that other kind of great. You know, the kind of great when you miss your favorite show on TV or something like that."
"Oh," I said. "Yeah, I know that kind of great."
And so does he. All too well.
The thing is, I've been a bit terrified of blogging since I reentered the workaday world. I'm spending about 50% less time with my kids during the week since I started working in April, and I find that some of the stuff I'm wanting to write about focuses on ME rather than on THEM. This fact has been a slap in the face for a woman (every woman?) who returns to the workforce after being at home for a while and struggles with the "self"-ishness of this decision. 'If I'm thinking so much about myself,' I reason, 'that I can only come up with blog content that centers on MY experience, then I MUST be a greedy person and (yes, here it comes) a BAD MOTHER.'
And we all know there's no reasoning with the voice of irrational guilt. So all I can say is this: there it is.
Now on to the real content, which just so happens to be about one of my children. (Irrational Guilt 0, Lisa 1).
If you've been with Strandblog for a while, you'll recall a post entitled, "When Sarcasm Bites Back." This was written the day I realized that my four-year-old was beginning to grasp that most snarky of linguistic tools. Based on an exchange yesterday, it seems he has indeed been bitten by the sarcasm bug.
We had just dropped my beloved off for yet another business trip, and none of us were too happy about it. This was evident in the expressions I saw on our kids' faces as I stood outside the car at the terminal while Daddy, still in the passenger seat, bid them farewell...for the fifth time in two months. The corners of their mouths hung down, and they looked at their father from beneath lowered eyelids. (When I shortened my focal distance just a bit, my reflection in the car window revealed a similar sad pout on my own face.)
When we had slogged through the sweet sorrow of parting and were making our way out the airport driveway, I asked my son, "How do you feel about Daddy leaving again?"
He was silent, so I asked again. "How does Daddy going away again make you feel, honey?"
His response was deadpan. "Great," he said.
"Great?!" I exclaimed, my surprise evident. "You feel great about Daddy leaving?"
"Well," he said, not impatiently but kindly and by way of explanation, "not the regular great but that other kind of great. You know, the kind of great when you miss your favorite show on TV or something like that."
"Oh," I said. "Yeah, I know that kind of great."
And so does he. All too well.
posted by Lisa Strandberg at 8:29 PM
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