Oh, The Glory/Hell Of It All

One of the hot-button topics among parent bloggers is this: when our kids eventually read our blogs, how much will the therapy cost?

Regular readers of this site, and those who read my other blog, have probably noticed that I rarely offer up a whole lot of dirt on the kid. It's not that he's not funny or interesting or "awwww"-inducing, and it's not like he doesn't, on a near-hourly basis, provide enough fodder to write a work of Proustian proportions. Truth be told - I keep the personal tales to a minimum because a)there are a lot of other bloggers out there who do a much better job of capturing the often mortifying episodes of three-year-old behavior and b)I really don't want to embarrass 16-year-old Lucas (and forthcoming daughter who will also eventually be able to read and use Google). Part of the parent's job is to, whenever possible, protect the child from pain and humiliation. And the stuff that we find hysterically funny might not seem that way to a kid trying to make his or her way through an often cruel and demeaning world.

So this morning, I find myself faced with a moral dilemma, a conundrum, if you will. Do I write about Lucas walking - strutting, actually - into the room, holding his plastic toy sword between his legs and yelling "I HAVE A GIANT PENIS!!! LOOK AT MY GIANT PENIS, DADDY!!!", or not?