Didn't think so.
You know you haven't blogged in a while when WordPress makes you login again, a sort of subtle dig that says, I'm sorry, but it's been so long we don't remember you. After November's flurry of daily blogging, I seem to have fallen right off the wagon. Or climbed back on the non-blogging wagon, or however that metaphor is supposed to work (and maybe, of course, it just doesn't).
I have no particular excuse for not blogging, other than that I just haven't felt like it and haven't pushed myself to do it, for better or for worse. I have, for the record, meditated every single day but one in December, so there's that. But enough navelgazing about blogging. We will see what happens in January. In the meantime, just to prove that I do write things some of the time, somewhere, here is this week's post at Today's Parent, on Isaac's penchant for "The Sad Books":
Isaac ... watches me carefully when I read “the sad books.” ... He can hear the catch in my throat at the sadness in their simple words. He likes to be on the lookout for my tears, which fascinate and thrill him. “Are you crying, Mama? Why?”
He asks that question — “Why?” — a lot when we read the sad books: Why did the Nazis take away Mr. Marks? Why is that girl hiding in the basement? Why can’t she come out? Why did they want to kill Jewish people? Why did they send Shin-chi and his sister away? Why did they give them English names? Why couldn’t they stay with their parents? Why did the government do that?
In the Holocaust books, children and families like Isaac and our family are the persecuted. In the books about residential schools, we are part of the group that persecutes. Answering the questions, explaining the nuances of these relationships, what it means to be a certain “race” or from a certain cultural background or religion, trying to impress upon him the seriousness of the situation without also giving him nightmares or broaching subjects — mass graves, sexual abuse, the devastating effects on future generations — that seem too adult for him: all this is incredibly tricky ground, even when I have all my wits about me. But at the end of the day, cuddled up in bed, it’s even more difficult. Would you like some genocide with your bedtime stories? No, not really.