hard to write

It’s hard to keep an active blog when

1) I can’t write about my job

2) If I can’t write about my job then I can’t write about my current melancholy

3) Nor can I write about another long-running job distraction

4) I don’t want to ruminate on the guilt I feel for working re: 3-year-old

5) I don’t want to kvetch about money

6) I can’t tell you who I’d like to be hit by a bus

7) And I’m often so bloody tired from my job that I just want to sleep

8) Also, I hate my camera and want a fancy one but can’t afford it so I rarely take any pictures

So.

I do actually like working. That’s something.

I have a brand-spanking-new diploma that tells me I’m a Master of Education.

Woot.

My not-quite-seven-year-old asked me the other night if he was becoming kind of like a teenager. He’s feeling the joy of having neighborhood friends to hang out with and the freedom I’m trying to give him, but I now see that boundaries must be set.

He’s also in the middle of the second Harry Potter novel, which tickles me greatly.

The three year old is really adept at being really, really three. It will get easier, but – oh my. He’s also very upset at his brother’s independence and neighborhood friends.