I worry all the time that I’m ruining my kids. That they’re learning bad habits, being turned neurotic by my parenting, or feeling misunderstood. It’s part of parenting, and I know I’m not alone in it. It still sucks. I also know that I’m not my mom, nor are my kids childhoods anything like mine was. This sometimes makes me ashamed, as I compare aspects of my past to their present, and come up wanting in the patience and calm categories.
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Thanks to a snow-day yesterday, the number of home-alone-with-no-kids days in my forseeable future was reduced to one. That’s this Friday: Douglas’ last day of public school for the forseeable future. The voluntary end of my day-time free time. This scares the living daylights out of me. I LOVE my free time, and have counted on it to get things done. Things like work (ok, less of it than I’d like to admit, but I still work at warp speed when I do get to it!), running, shopping w/out a stroller and whiners, blogging, you name it: things that are easier done without a kid or two in tow. And I’m giving up my two free days a week, and will now have two kids on the other days that I just had one.
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