I was going to convert the podcast next, but I think I'll do the blog. It's 1) easier; and 2) will save me some frustration, since SandVox has been crashing on me a lot lately. (Not that I don't love it anyway; but in the 18 years I've been using vi, it has never crashed on me once.)
So I'm writing because I haven't written in a while, and to confirm for everyone that yes, Christmas still sucks. I've had a lot of fun buying stuff for Emily (even though she does not yet fully appreciate the Muppet Show, for which I will someday learn to forgive her), but I've been largely frustrated by everybody else. None of this is helped by the discussion boards I read, in which there is always a vocal group of people crowing about how Inconsiderate, Wasteful, and Thoughtless it is to give a gift certificate. I think everybody on my list is getting at least one this year. So of course the Math of Depression declares that all my dear, sweet family members are going to secretly be thinking I'm Inconsiderate, Wasteful, and Thoughtless. Of course they'll deny it, because they are dear and sweet.
I really don't think it's the holidays, though. I've never much been sucked in to the commercialism (and yes, I recognize the irony of making that declaration right after my paragraph about being inadequate for not giving the perfect gift). I love my family. I love that my brother comes to visit. I love having everyone together in the house for a couple of hours, even though it's loud and chaotic and exhausting and I need a three-day vacation after everyone leaves to recover. It's just that the holidays fall at the end of the year, and my inability to properly shop for gifts is just one more failure to add to my long list of mishaps.
Of course, that makes me wonder where I got the idea that I had to be perfect. I'm quite clear that I'm not perfect, and I probably wouldn't have as many friends if I were. It's not the mistakes that are the worst, it's that I often don't quite know how to forgive myself. Sometimes I consider crawling under the bed and staying there for a while; but while it might be easier to cope with the embarrassment from there, I do have daily responsibilities that preclude such a self-indulgent solution. (Plus I'm pretty sure I wouldn't fit, at least not comfortably.)
And I've no time for such self-indulgence, really. I have the world's most wonderful, ornery, sweet, fresh toddler to raise.
She pushed a little girl at school the other day. Oh, I was embarrassed! She'd done it right before I arrived, and was still crying from being punished. I picked her up and smooched her - and insisted she apologize to the other child. She refused three or four times. I chit-chatted with the teacher, who was holding the other little girl (who had long since stopped being upset at being pushed and was cheerfully paying attention to other things), and prompted Em every minute or so: "Say you're sorry." "No!" Eventually, though, she said it: "I sorry." I told her to tell the other girl; Em turned to her. "I sorry," she said. The other girl was giggling at something she saw across the room.
I want to sit Em down and explain to her that because she's so much bigger than the other children she needs to be more careful; but I think that's too much to process at this age. At this age she needs to learn that shoving=bad, all the time. When she's older, I can talk to her about being extra gentle with the kids who are smaller than she is - and hope she doesn't realize how easy it would be to turn into a bully.
On a separate note: I know a few people on-line who tried National Novel Writing Month this year. I think I'd like to give it a shot. November is a long way off, though - so I am considering trying to do it on my own in January. After all, nobody will read what I write - the purpose is not beauty, but volume. I think it'd be good exercise - and depending on how it goes, I might try again in November on the record.