As one of my nine regular readers, you probably know that I consider pretty much anything to be fair game for the blog. Heck, I even have a T-shirt that says, "I’m blogging this." If the kids do something funny or touching or gross, I tell you about it. Sometimes I even post a photo. Or a video. You know my kids’ names and what they look like. I share my experiences as their father with you, freely.
But they have no say in the matter what so ever.
I realize that I’m the adult here, and that I make the decision. But is it right? Do I really have the right to tell you about the huge turd William made at the dance studio, or the time Grace fell down the stairs and went unconscious? At what point do they have the right to say, "You know what, dad? Enough. No more." I don’t know if the line can/should be drawn when/if they can demand it verbally, or if I should really draw it for them.
Sometimes it’s really fun for me to share my stories with you. Sometimes it’s theraputic. Sometimes, maybe, I can help another parent somewhere else in the world deal with their situation(s) just a little more effectively. Sometimes, however, I feel like I’ve turned them into modern-day Dionne quintuplets, and that I should stop immediately. I don’t know.