I’m still sick, and spent most of yesterday dozing and coughing on the couch.� Carey had the exact same thing I have (flu, then bronchitis) and two and a half weeks later, she is still pretty tired.� I’m one and a half weeks down, so I have high hopes for next week.� No pressure, immune system, but I expect a full recovery.
Until I am up to snuff, I thought I might share the Time Magazine article on Helicopter Parenting that is going around the web.� I read it in Lake Tahoe, and thought it was pretty good.� How’s that for a stirring and thoughtful analysis?� I have to say, though, guilty as charged.� At five years old, I can’t imagine letting Mikey play in the front yard by himself.� As I write this, I’ve gone and checked on Nicholas playing outside no less than three times.� The gate to the backyard doesn’t have a lock, and I am convinced a “bad guy” will wander down our street, sniff the air like a vampire, and catch the scent of fresh two year old playing.� He’ll use his super powers to mute the dogs (also outside) and abscond with Nicholas, who for the first time in his life will not utter a word.
And yet, I have a personal blog and put pictures of my kids online.� Don’t try to work through the logic.� You can’t.� In my defense, I never wanted a blog but was gifted one by my friend Nicole, who thought I might be good at it.� That, and I suspect she was growing tired of my many emails.� I didn’t think I would keep it up, honestly, but two years later I am still here.� I’m here as much for myself as I am The Mister.� He loves my blog, loves reading about the day to day he misses while he is at work, and loves that this allows me to write, something he feels I was born to do.� Since I dashed his hopes of living a lifestyle of leisure when I quit my six-figure job as an attorney, I figure I owe him at least a few posts a week.
I feel like I am at a pivotal point with the blog.� (Forgive me the dramatics.� I am sick, after all.)� I can either shut it down or grow it into something of value.� I want to grow it into something of value, but am unsure what that looks like.� Well, that’s not exactly true, either.� I know what I want to do; I want to be a modern day Erma Bombeck.� I want a syndicated column and a book of greatest hits.� While I’m at it, I’ll take twenty white kittens and some butterfly confetti, too.� (The hubris, I know.)� The question becomes whether I have what it takes to see my goals to fruition.� Because, let’s face it, the helicopter parenting we do on our children is an extension of the caution and reserve we employ in our own lives.� We choose responsible jobs, wardrobes, friends, and spouses to protect ourselves as much as our children.� I went to law school because it was the only job I could think of that would allow me to read and write for a living without putting myself out there too much.� (Lawyering doesn’t require as much creativity as you would imagine.)�� Now that I write for myself, I hide behind internet piracy and child safety laws to keep from pushing myself and my potential.
Can I write a great blog without abusing the privacy of my family?� I believe I can.� I believe that, to some degree, my concerns with safety is another excuse I give myself to keep from working to my potential.� Bombeck wrote weekly about her family for thirty years, but as much as she wrote about them, I can’t tell you anything more than superficial trivialities–and those trivialities were damn funny.� Of course, in this day and age people expect pictures with their posts, and the imagery issue is one I haven’t yet figured out in my head.� Sometimes I think it’s much ado about nothing and other times I feel just the opposite.
What I can tell you is that I have goals and aspirations, most of them hindered only by my need for self preservation.� I hope that by writing it out here I slowly begin to snip away the bubble wrap I have so lovingly and securely wrapped around myself…starting next week.� For now, I am heading back to the couch for more dozing and coughing.