Soapbox Diner
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12.26.07 |
Quickly, as it's time to get ready for work (bah). I got hair clippers for Christmas, and an offer to move to Ireland. Sell the house, quit your job, and move here, he said. While it feels like perfect timing, as the world here feels like a slow-motion car crash, I don't imagine it would be very well-considered if I did. And after all, isn't the well-considered life the one best lived?
Feh, I seriously doubt it. I need a vacation (all I ever wanted).
The kid got four Fs on his report card and I've cancelled the cable TV subscription, took away his Gameboy, and password protected the computer. He now gets to read and do homework. And ride his bike, I suppose. Part of me blames myself for my absorption in other matters. Part of me blames his lack of effort. Another part of me tells me I can keep spending four hours a night getting him to do it, but the last part says, "Life's tough, champ. If you don't do you work, you fall on your ass. Better to learn to make the effort now, when the stakes aren't permanent." However, I've been informed that he's too young to give up on. Fuck all, but we are raising a generation of silver-spooned, entitled children.
But then I see al the love in his sweet little face and feel like the worst mommy the whole wide world.
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