I reserve the right to kvell.
Is it weird that I feel guilty for singing my kid's praises? And why does it come so naturally to me to kvetch? I do it well to be sure. Is that a double negative? I brag about my kvetching skills.
My usual stance in life is to be self-deprecating and thereby kid-deprecating, which might not be the best mode, but, well. I don't beat myself up anymore. It's my new thing.
And I reassure myself that I'm not a hyper-critical monster with the concept that yeah, kids are great and all but not every one of them is Picasso or Einstein. In fact, few are, my kids notwithstanding.
I have found a lot of connection in my life sharing the scary hairy bits. It's how I bond, how I roll, and many have gone by the wayside who don't speak this language. The braggers give me hives.
Have I made friends over shared inflated senses of self? Like two balloons trying to hug, it's physically, physiologically impossible, though there are those who compete not to be the best but to be the worst. Cry me a fucking river. Two popped balloons just lay there in the gutter.
I'm not saying don't shine. Shine away. But with humility. I hear humility is all the rage.
"Hey Mom!" Hamish just called, "I got to the Dumbledore part!"
My heart swelled. I took his picture. My boy is reading Harry Potter! On his own! But just as quickly as he picked it up, he put it down and kvetched, "I'm boooooored. What can I dooooo?"
It ain't all pickles and roses.