So a while back, one of you asked me if my kids read my blog. Dutifully, I went and asked them and they all answered with some version of a resounding, "Uh, NO!" I believed them and that was that.
But the other day, I got an invitation from Middle to a presentation he was giving for his history class. And he signed the card, not with his name, but with "Middle."
The thing is, I don't call him Middle in real life – only here, in blog life. Suddenly, I found myself wondering, is he reading these here scratchings? And what if he is?
Well, first off, if he lied to me about not reading the blog (which I doubt) I would be disappointed. I always expect my kids to tell me the truth and have on a few occasions felt compelled to tell each one in turn that I only know how to mother children that I trust and if I can't trust them, I'm not going to know how to mother them and we are all going to be in for a very nasty ride. So really, could they please do us all a favor and remain trustworthy? And with the exception of a few little glitches, they have done just that. (It helps that I have a truly uncanny ability to know when they are lying. They each have such a cute tell.)
But I digress. It is of course also possible that Middle started reading the blog after I asked him if he read it in which case I need to ask him again. And I will.
But in the meantime, I had a post I was going to write today. It was about Middle and trust me, it would have been funny and sweet and explain who he is right at this moment: a drop-dead gorgeous jock who retains just enough nerd to make him impossibly endearing.
But I don't feel like I can tell the story because I realize that if he read it, he might be embarrassed by it. He might not want total strangers imagining what it was like in his math class, when the teacher made a math joke – a math joke! – and my Middle laughed heartily while his classmates stared blankly, not getting it. Not getting it at all. And who knows, some of the other kids involved might read it – and then what? I remember, oh how I remember, the infinite black hole of high school shame.
So now I feel oddly hamstrung. Much as I want to tell the story, I can't – or won't.
Instead, I am going to throw out to you all the questions I have been pondering. I think they are important ones for us blogging mothers and fathers to be asking ourselves: How much of my children's lives is it appropriate for me to scatter like seeds into the blogosphere? Am I somehow abdicating my primary job as Middle's mom if I use his life – even in a loving way – for what is fundamentally my own purposes? Isn't it possible that the act of blogging about my children at all – or featuring them in a post the way I would have with this story – is a kind of exploitation?
Do you ever ask yourself these questions and if you do, how do you answer?