Many of you have asked when my 11-year-old, who indeed has a
great deal to say, will start a blog of her own. Some of you I suspect are motivated by
voyeuristic curiosity. What will Tigger
say about TR? Is she really what she
claims to be? Will there be Mommy
Well you’ll just have to wait for “the rest of the
story.” Tigger is not allowed to blog
It’s not that I fear the revelations. Well, maybe I do, but not a lot. I’m banning blogging for the time being for
speaking, social networking sites like this one here set a minimum age of
13. Tigger is only 11, and we
wouldn’t want to break the rules, now would we?
internet is chock-full, crawling with, indeed infested by weird nasty creepy
people. Present company excepted,
of course. (Side note: MS Word does
not want me to use “excepted” there.
It would prefer that I used “accepted.” But that’s not what I mean to say, is
it? Stupid MS Word.)
I do not want my daughter having conversations via comments
or any other method with said weird nasty creepy people. Even though, as she indignantly points out,
she knows not to give out any personal information and not to trust anything
anyone says online, she just doesn’t need to be there waiting to be contacted
by someone weird, nasty and creepy. It’s
bad enough she watches youtube videos.
God knows what depravity she’s encountering there.
So, sorry peeps, you’ll have to wait a couple more years to
hear Tigger’s version of events in the Rabbit house. Though I may offer her a guest column
sometime. If I do, and you happen to be
one of the weird nasty creepy ones, please don’t comment.
I’ve been having trouble with endings lately. I can’t find the ribbon and bow with which to
wrap up the post. So envision your
monitor with a nice wide silk jobbie in the color of your choice and tied with
a real bow, not one of those fake ones with the sticky stuff on the back. Thank you.
UPDATE ON MY SUPER COOL TWEEN
Warning: if you don’t have kids of your own you might find this story schmaltzy, but that’s just too damn bad.
While I’m on the subject of kids growing up and gaining more freedom, check this out. Just yesterday Tig was granted the privilege of walking up to a local shopping strip (less than a mile away) all by herself. To earn it she had to prove to me that she could get there and back without any assistance (I trailed behind her), which she did without a hitch.
As I expected, she elected to exercise her right today. “Mom, can I go up to Bartell’s and get a soda? Yes I have money, and yes I know it counts as dessert,” she handily countered any objection I might raise.
“Ok,” I agreed. “Go!”
I tried not to look out the window anxiously too often.
Forty-five minutes later she returned with a Dr. Pepper and a big grin. Unbeknownst to me, she had something in her pocket too. She disappeared for a few minutes, then found me in the kitchen and handed me an envelope.
She’d bought a thank you card along with her soda. Inside she wrote:
Thank you for giving me the freedom to walk places on my own. Not only that, but you did it well–by keeping me safe by making sure I knew the way, but not being overprotective.
Now if that don’t make your hearts go pitter-pat, you are made of stone, people.