My son likes dresses. Princess dresses, mostly, but sometimes also fairy dresses, and tutus. He also likes toenail polish, and wigs, and my high heels. He has always liked these things. I've never questioned...
I was asked by a reporter this past week whether I was worried about the stories about myself, the stories that I tell online, about myself, that my children will one day read – whether I had any reservations about having talked about sex or abortion or depression in a public forum, given that my children will one move freely in this forum, and will likely see these stories. I said this:
“One of the things parent bloggers leave for their children is a record of their real experiences — a picture of their parents as three-dimensional human beings. I want my children at a minimum to know as much about me as the rest of the world does and possibly more. Anything I’ve put out there for public consumption I would hope is suitable for my children’s consumption some day.”
Which, of course, right? What then of the stories that we tell about our children?