I know you all worry about fucking up your children. You wouldn’t be a thinking parent if you didn’t. I’ve got great news for you. We* had a meeting the other day, and we decided that:
1. All of our kids will need therapy anyway.
2. “Successful” parenting means they’ll need therapy for different things than WE need therapy for.
Right? We can’t get everything right, of course not. How can we? So long as we avoid/minimize doing what we know is wrong—what we know first hand is wrong… we’re doing ok.
So chill. But also, add a “saving for Joey’s therapy” line to the family budget…
Proof that, on the whole, we get it right:
Flora: Mom? What does that say?
Jane: It’s an excerpt from an Ernest Hemingway book. Someone asks, “What is the best early training for a writer?” And the answer is, “An unhappy childhood.”
Flora: Well, I’m screwed then. Good thing I’d rather be an artist or a veterinarian, anyway.
Neurotic parenting for the win!
Sean: What are you doing?
Jane: Wallowing in existential angst.
Jane: I put it in calendar as a regular thing. Every Monday, 8:30-8:45. Then I drink coffee. Then I function.
Flora: Dad? Is Mom crazy?
Sean: Yes. But she’s ours, and we take care of her. Now, go let the dog out while I grind her coffee beans.
Flora: You’d better give her some chocolate too.
Ender: On it!
I love them buttsacks of mine.
PS Looking for me? Find me here.
* “We” = select members of a select club I belong to called Elitist Bitches Who Don’t Like to Make New Friends, thinking mothers with issues all. No, you can’t join, but you could secretly start your own chapter. Except now that I’ve told you about it, the other bitches will probably blacklist me. Ooops. My bad…
PS2 “This is a very short post, and sort of short on insight, Jane. What’s up?”
“What? Nothing. Why? What have you heard? Not true. Ssssh. I’ll be long-winded next week. Maybe. Deadlines…”