It’s not just the Little City adults who’ve become more adept at planning ahead recently. The bug seems to have infected the kids, too…
Every time I start to write something positive about my kids I read it back through my self-effacing English eyes and think: bleurgh.
Any praise tips so easily into the worst kind of parental bragging (“…and then Tristram counted backwards from 100 in Greek, missing out every seventh number! And he’s only two!”) It’s boasting of the worst kind – the kind designed to make other parents feel bad.
In order to counteract any possible threat of smugness, I then feel honour bound to point out that, for every one thing my kids are better than yours at, there’s two they’re worse at.
So much guilt, and I’m not even Catholic.
Then, I worry that my kids will read all this one day and think I did nothing but write about their shortcomings and failures for the amusement of the world.
Eventually, having contorted myself into knots with all that mental gymnastics, I usually end up cutting the entire section out, leaving anyone wandering by these parts none the wiser, and my next post precisely zero words nearer completion.
Let me tell you, writing nothing is exhausting.