Destructive Criticism
I’m terrible at accepting compliments of any kind, but none make me more uncomfortable than those that praise my parenting.
They make me feel like a fraud.
I’m terrible at accepting compliments of any kind, but none make me more uncomfortable than those that praise my parenting.
They make me feel like a fraud.
I’m the first to admit that I’m still figuring out how to parent, especially when it comes to my first-born. He has ADHD, and there are aspects of the condition, and the way it influences his behavior and personality, that I still don’t understand.
But every once in a while, I gain insight. I make strides. In understanding it, I mean. Not necessarily in parenting it!
My first kid was supposed to be born on my birthday. Instead, Detective Munch landed six days later – the day before my anniversary. Disrupting things since day one.
Today, he turns 11, and 9 years after I wrote a blog post called “Top Ten Reasons Why I Hate My Son” (see my stories), he’s still ruining my life. But as he’s developed into a full-fledged human being with a personality, opinions, and interests of his own, the ways he ruins my life have changed.
On Monday, Mom and Buried took The Hammer to the playground.
They ran into a pre-K classmate and my 5yo was so PSYCHED you’d have thought he’d fallen in love with Katie Holmes! He spent the next few hours running around like Tom Cruise on Oprah: having the time of his life (and freaking everyone else out).
Who could blame him?